Project Archimedes
by ZeroGain
Summary: Sequel to "Way of the Gun". The Consortium is on the move again, though their machinations extend deeper than any in Eureka guess. What will happen when their plans enmesh young Kevin Blake in their webs of deceit? Set post s04e09. Spoilers for s1-s4.
1. Prologue

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES  
**A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

I. PROLOGUE

Walker Mayimbe looked at the file on his desk as he spoke over his phone. It was a simple, if weighty affair in a binder-clipped manila folder. He sat alone in his office, a regal and stately affair, as befitted a man of his station and power.

"Yes" he said, "I have the file." he said into the receiver. The images were intriguing, to say the least. He skipped the first several pages, he knew exactly where Eureka, Oregon was located and didn't need the brief on the secret nature of the town. Thankfully whoever handled the documentation had seen fit to flag changes within the last year. That was interesting... several of them, or so it seemed.

There was, of course, the rather hectic overview of the town's usual coexistence with utter disaster, but a few of the incidents had been startling to say the least.

"One moment," he said, responding to the voice on the phone, he flipped through several more pages, settling on a report from six months prior.

"I'm there." he said. The report indicated a rogue scientist using his research abusively, extremely so. The man, one Doctor Tom Baxter had attempted to return to a blacklisted project. Mayimbe frowned at some of the notes. Baxter had been considered promising once, but the man had been deemed too unstable for their purposes. His willingness to sacrifice almost anything for his craft would have been useful, if it could have been contained somehow. In the end, Mayimbe didn't really regret reading how Carter had most likely executed the man.

The assessment of the various technologies in the incident raised an eyebrow. "Very interesting, sir. I am particularly liking in this mimetic material… Yes, the other is interesting as well, but the report indicates a slash and burn on the data archives… I don't see any notes about the outcome of Doctor Blake's hospitalization." He listened a bit more, then, "Ah, I see."

He thought about that for a bit then said, "I don't think the slash and burn was doctor Baxter's style, however. It seems much more likely that mister Carter employed the services of mister Donovan… No, we can't do that again. Barlowe was too anxious and involved in that project, sir."

He listened for a while continuing to page through the file.

Notes indicated uncharacteristic behavior for several highly placed or very important members of the community. Douglas Fargo, the puppet director wasn't such a puppet after all; Jo Lupo, General Mansfield's pet pit bull not quite so tractable anymore either, and a romance with Zane Donovan? Interesting... potentially useful as well.

Carter's willingness to resort to violence was a shift. He added a note there that any future operations should keep more of his history in mind and not assume that he was just a sheriff. Traditionally the "sheriffs" of Eureka were anything but, and this man seemed to easily fool people into believing that he was more Andy Griffith and less Steve McGarret.

"No, sir. I respectfully request that you keep her out of it. Ms. Barlowe is too vested in her father's legacy, or lack thereof. I don't like working with her in the least." Though his tone was respectful there was a definite undercurrent of iron will to it. No, if Beverly Barlowe was to be involved in this operation he would take no part in it.

Of course that meant that his superiors might decide to employ them both against each other. It wouldn't be the first time.

Henry Deacon's profile looked odd somehow. While he wasn't behaving in an uncharacteristic way, observers had noted a vague errancy in his manner for a short while. A marital spat might explain it, but the notes indicated that whatever had happened appeared to have strengthened the man's commitment to his ideals and his wife. While he bore watching, Deacon would always be an adversary, and Mayimbe was resigned to that. He had tried once, a long time ago, but it was not to be.

"Yes sir, I have been keeping track of that. Our readings are indicating another event within the next several months. As always it's hard to determine where it will manifest, but considering it's past ties to the region it's highly possible that it will manifest in Eureka again."

He fell quiet while he listened. Agreeing and disagreeing as necessary, then said, "I think it's time we resurrect Project Archimedes."

He laid out two profiles side by side, having different reactions to each.

"Yes, sir. As the originating scientist I think I am most qualified to oversee our operations this time. With your support, of course." he paused to listen, then said "No, sir. I believe I have reasonably demonstrated my willingness to sacrifice for the greater good. The cause is more important that any one person's well being or personal wishes."

On the left was the profile of Doctor Allison Blake. She still looked beautiful, and age had matured her with grace and dignity. The added poise and experience elevated her from the brilliant young specialist into a woman of stunning bearing and vast personal fortitude. It had always been hard to part with her, but he believed what he'd just said. Their goals were far more important than what he might have felt once, or yet did.

"Very well, sir. I will begin making arrangements. Thank you for your vote of confidence. Good day." He hung up the phone and looked at the other profile.

Kevin Blake, by any measure a prodigious savant. Looking at the picture was like gazing into a mirror that looked back in time. On a whim he pulled out a desk drawer and activated the hidden compartment in the side, retrieving an old passport. He laid it out next to young Mr. Blake's profile and examined the similarities. It was not hard to imagine Kevin looking like the man in the photograph in a few more years.

It was time for Mayimbe to become Doctor Donald Aimes once more.

He was proud of the boy's- strike that, the young man's accomplishments thus far. His growth was outstanding and showed no signs of stopping. The test results slipped into the school documents rated his aptitude extremely high. It was good to see the post-natal treatments hadn't induced the feared autism.

Trying to hear the boy's reply in his head he said to the photo, "Hello, Son."

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **This is the prologue to my sequel to "Way of the Gun". I'll be revealing more of what is going on in the future and don't want to give too much away in this first segment. Expect this one to have semi-regular updates as time permits, but I wanted to get it out there at least._

_But, in a nutshell a friend and I were talking and hashed out that if Kevin did indeed send the time travelers back to fix his autism, as Carter and Henry discus in 4x02, or for whatever hidden reason a person of his obvious talent could imagine, then whatever caused his autism was directly related to Camp Eureka or the events established shortly after. Since the big change is that they brought Trevor Grant back, and we know that Trevor was a founding light in Beverly's Consortium, then it stands to reason that Kevin's autism was CAUSED by them._

_For what end? I think Season 2 shows us that._


	2. Exorcism

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**  
A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

1. EXORCISM

_August 15th, 2010_

She assaulted the heavy bag like it contained all the evils in the world and she could excise them by pounding the ever loving crap out of it. As if she could hit it hard enough and often enough to drive the pain away. She assaulted it mercilessly; a series of three hit combos followed by knee strikes, spinning heel kicks, elbow smashes. There was a compelling little display of a double kick where she virtually stepped into the bag on a back-swing, right were a good-sized man's crotch ought to be, then dug in with her toes and lifted into a second stomping kick a mere half-second later that would land in the opponent's face.

The routine started simply enough. She came into the gym and commenced to stretching, having dressed appropriate for a work-out, wearing a loose black t-shirt with "75th Rangers" emblazoned across the back, gray sweatpants, and a good pair of rubber-soled moccasin style workout shoes.

After stretching for a while, she oriented on the bag and proceeded to tear into it. It had been far too long since the driven young woman had been banned from these activities by her doctor. She still resented that, though she understood why. Throughout the intense workout she could still feel twinges in her abdomen as she twisted and spun, reawakening old reflexes. They made her even angrier.

The main gym in the employee lounge at Global Dynamics was one of the above-ground facilities. It was a large airy structure, even this secluded sparring corner. Few observers would see much different than what they expected when they looked at the company headquarters: A series of buildings of slightly different architectural styles, indicating spaced out build and design dates; A few public parking areas, and lots of paved walkways between the various buildings; A gym facility with outdoor tennis and basketball courts. In short the place looked almost like a college, but like so much in Eureka the surface appearance barely hinted at the truth. The true facility ran far underground, in some cases miles deep.

Though the main gym was a public place, the few other people in the area began to drift out, one by one, as it became obvious that her intentions were not exercise, but self-flagellation. Misreading the implied sentiments, she pretended that they didn't bother her. But the fact that they were giving her space and avoiding her made her even angrier.

She stepped up the pace. Sweat began to drop hard and heavy, and every second or third combo she had to wipe away sweat laden hair from her eyes. At this point she was welcoming the pain in her screaming muscles, the self-punishing burn, the-

"Jeez Jojo, what's that bag ever done to you?" She whirled to see her erstwhile lover, Zane Donovan, standing about fifteen feet away, dressed in loose workout clothes and holding two masks and two of his custom designed bokken.

She looked at him incredulously. "Go away, Zane. I'm working out." she said hoarsely, she hadn't used her voice a lot today, and the stress was inflecting it.

He snorted and stepped forward, dropping the masks on the ground. "Bullshit, Jo. You're punishing yourself, babe."

"Don't! I hate that word." she snapped.

"Fine." he said, shrugging. "But I still call bullshit. You're way too pissed."

"Fuck you." she snarled and turned around giving the bag a good solid kick that would've fractured a human ribcage.

He laughed. If it were possible that pissed her off even more. She whirled on him and yelled, "Be like everyone else and get the fuck out of here, Zane! Leave me alone!"

There was a wicked glint in his eye as he said simply "No", and threw one of the wooden swords at her in and underhand toss. Her reflexes primed for a fight, her hand snapped forward to intercept the practice sword.

He followed the toss a split second later with a full-bodied shouting battle-cry and swinging his own sword-stick for her head!

Jo quickly adopted a two-handed grip, barely falling into a half-assed defensive stance, her mind swirling with confusion and shock. When he did that scream of his there was absolutely no doubting his sincerity and commitment to the attack. Of all the things he'd picked up in his various lighter studies of the Japanese martial arts, that ki-focusing shout was one of his most adept skills. It drove right into your gut and hit your brain with this freezing moment of confusion, and was a weapon unto itself.

THWACK!

The two bokken clashed. Jo shifted forward, rapidly flowing into a textbook riposte, slipping her sword up and his off over her shoulder as she spun, aiming to bring the blade across his stomach, keeping the blow close and twisting to maximize the cutting force.

KRACK!

Like some freaking wall his sword was suddenly there, blocking her strike. Her anger surged for a moment. Of course he'd bring these damn sticks! If there was any one area in the physical arts that he was even remotely close to her it was in swordplay.

In the months since the incident in Carter's old house he'd dove back into the study of the various martial arts he'd once dabbled in, and his skill with these sticks was improving in leaps and bounds. He and Fargo had been working on an old hologram program one of the old directors, William King had developed. The added exercise in an entirely different arena hadn't done bad things for his physique either, she idly noted.

They separated and traded a few more blows, each probing and pushing, each testing the others' defenses. As they stalked they kept their practice swords low, the tips of the blades facing each others' wrists. The ready position of Shingyoto-ryu. Only once or twice did either of them jump forward with a shouted "Kiyai!", hoping to find a weakness or exploit one. The sounds of the gym had shifted from the repeated pummeling of the heavy sandbag into the sharp, hard cracks as each struck and parried.

This form of fighting was quite different than the samurai movies, with their big sweeping, windmilling arcs and the focus of their dueling entertainment rather than spilling the other sonsofbitch's guts on the floor. When Zane had started learning kenjutsu he'd fought like a movie samurai. He'd been snapped repeatedly, and to this day still remembered Sensei Han shouting "Suki!" at him every time he found an opening, and snapping him with his own bokken, and _hard,_ for each one! That old man had been a holy terror on his students. The purpose of this school of fighting was to end it as fast as possible; to dispatch your opponent and be ready for the next one. Ideally you would finish the fight with a single sword-strike.

She thought she had him at the end. He shifted too far one direction, leaving his right side slightly open. In retrospect, she thought, she should have paid a little more attention to his eyes when he did it. He was still a shitty poker player. She lunged forward, a short sharp strike aimed at taking off his leg!

And he almost disappeared from the target zone! Pulling his leg out of the way in a spin he brought his sword down on top of hers, striking the back of the blade in a disarming strike that he quickly followed with a strike across her spine.

Well, that was his intent.

He should not have gone for the disarm. Instead of standing still for the spine-slicing finishing move, she continued her forward momentum and collapsed on the floor, scything her right leg out in a sweep that tangled his ankles together and sent him crashing to the mat.

Exultantly she rolled forward, mixing some pankration into the duel, planting one knee on his midsection, her left hand pinning his right shoulder to the mat, her right cocked up by her ear already. Like a gunshot she exploded into the final move. "Hiyai!" she shouted, straight from the diaphragm, the blow descended with crushing force, two knuckles aimed squarely at his nose and upper jaw.

She stopped the blow a moment from making contact, then lightly touched the tip of his nose with her fist. "Gotcha!" she exulted.

He was smiling, a huge giddy thing, his mouth split wide with it as he gazed into her eyes. Lightly he kissed her closed hand, the grimaced.

"Could you maybe-" he gasped, "-Take your knee out of my guts?" She flushed even harder and extricated herself, careful not to put her weight on the knee that was stopping him from breathing. He grabbed her hand before she got away entirely and pulled her back down. "I didn't say you should go, Jo. Just your knee!"

She let him pull her down for a kiss. The kiss grew heated, and rapidly became something not fit for the public arena, unless they were trying out for some form of new performance art. He didn't seem to mind it all so much, but her ingrained sense of propriety badgered her enough that she broke it off.

She sat up, facing away from him, trying to control her emotions. He sat up as well. She was sitting with her back toward his right side, and he scooted in closer, twisting slightly so he could wrap his arms around her and rest his head on her shoulder, kissing her on the neck as he did so. It was easy for him, then, to feel the shaking in her frame that went beyond the simple letdown of the adrenalin. She was struggling hard not to cry.

"What's wrong, Jo?" he asked. "I know this has got to be more than you hiring the new guy to replace Mike Hanson, but-"

"It's not that." she sniffed, wiping a wrist across her nose and finally giving in to the emotions. She leaned into him and let the sorrow flow.

He let her cry for as long as she wanted to, just sitting there, holding her. He never noticed if anyone came to the gym. After a while he said, "Whatever it is, we can deal with it, Jo."

He kissed her neck again and hugged her. "I love you, babe."

She laughed in spite of the tears. "I hate that word!" she protested weakly.

"I know." he said again, smiling.

She sighed and relaxed into him, the tears finally held at bay. "Allison released me back to regular exercise duty." she began. He didn't interrupt. If he'd learned anything over these last three months it was that she would talk when she wanted to and there was nothing he could do to analyze it or cajole it aside from being willing to listen. Treating their encounters like a science puzzle was the wrong thing to do, he knew that immediately, but sometimes it was so very hard to let her talk at her pace without immediately jumping forward with the answer. Betimes it was a constant struggle in his emotions to just let her talk about a problem.

"She looked at some of the test results… and… the injuries from the shrapnel are healed enough for regular exercise, sure, but she's pretty sure the damage to my… my ovaries on that side is permanent. They can't repair it. Even if they could, the sustained damage… well… it-" she choked a little bit of a cry and sunk her head into his arm, murmuring "All the eggs there died."

He hugged her tight. "Wait, they… you mean?"

"Yeah" she managed, the tears threatening once more.

That was another thing he'd learned over the months; how closely she valued family. She'd had several conversations with her brothers in the months since they'd dropped all the charades, and even without talking to them directly he could tell that the surviving Lupos were a very tightly knit bunch. He wasn't internally unified behind the idea that he was ready for that commitment, but a part of him had always wanted kids too. This was bad news for her on a level that had to be soul deep.

He kissed her neck again. "Josefina Lupo. I love you no matter what. Okay? We'll work through it." He tightened his hug on her as she squeezed back with the one free arm.

"Thank you. I love you, too, Zane." she kissed the arm wrapped around her.

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **As a sequel to "Way of the Gun", this one will deal with the aftermath and the new situations. While this may seem cruel and callous to Jo, and I admit it really is, it is a possible outcome and it adds drama._

_I don't anticipate going 1st person with this story, so far it feels right to switch between 3rd-person limited and omniscient. I'm sorry if that's confusing. I like to experiment in my fanfics with different styles to see how it feels, how easy it is to write, etc._

_Please read and review, and let me know what you liked and didn't, it stands a good chance of informing on the rest of the story._


	3. Old Ghosts

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**  
A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

2. OLD GHOSTS

_December 20th, 2010_  
_Nuremberg, Germany_

Trevor Grant remembered standing here once. To him, it was a short three years ago when he'd last gazed on this town. Back then there'd been a several pennants proudly flying the colors of the Third Reich and Adolf Hitler's Master Race. To see it now, decorated for Christmas, jammed full of so many different types of people, was astounding, amazing, and enlightening.

He was morose this Christmas season. Oh the German people were trying, there was no doubt about that, the public square was bedecked in festive spirit. The entirety of the place given over to something they were calling Christmas City.

He stepped away from the crowds, bundling his coat a little tighter against the night chill and started walking. Nuremberg…

Before the war, when he'd been very young, he'd come here with his father. It wasn't what any of the folks in Eureka might have thought if he'd said that to them, his father was a very severe man who was very set in an old way of thinking. No happy walks hand in hand as the popular media of the day would show it. His governess had done most of the talking to him, it was a business trip after all.

The city had enchanted and excited him. It had always been a center for science, beginning as early as Johannes Mueller's observatory in the 1500s. Of course the trip had come at Christmas time then too, and few places went as over the top on an old world Christmas as Nuremberg. Of course, Christmas was an utter waste of time to his father. Lucius Grant was not the sort of man to clutter his life with trivialities. He had a son because society didn't respect a man of his station unless he had a family, and that was the end of it.

Of course his second trip to the city had been in a much unfriendlier time. He had been isolated for a large part of World War II. Sure, he'd known what was going on, he could see the writing on the wall, plain as any other intelligent man of the day. But in the beginning the National Socialists had fooled everyone, himself included. He decided these days that it had been wishful thinking on his part, and on the parts of so many others. Every intelligent man or woman of his day was a socialist, it was the only philosophy that made sense. When the Nazis had shown their true faces to the outside world…

Now? He sighed, conflicted more than ever by a number of issues rampaging through his head.

All this had been before the horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Auschwitz had been terrible enough to witness, even half a year after the prisoners had been freed. This country had been a mess! What evils men were capable of unleashing on other men chilled him to the bone. Could humanity ever rise above this barbarism? In the sixty years he'd skipped it looked like it had got worse, not better.

He realized he'd walked away from the crowds of people and his thinking and meandering had carried him down long stretches toward once familiar places, though now they seemed ghostly and unreal. He stood at the foot of the Zeppelinfield stadium's iconic parade promontory. It was quiet tonight, a sad and lonely place with the ghosts of the past haunting it. A tattered sign blowing in the breeze celebrated a Special Olympics that had been and done almost two months prior. A lone sign decreed the impending arrival of the GT racing circuit that would land here soon enough. Indeed the paved ground he walked on was marked with the faded ghosts of a starting grid.

He'd been here in '45 when they blew up the famous swastika on the top of the building. It had been celebratory, in a way, but the dead were everywhere in this country then, the impoverished and the war orphans omnipresent. The werewolves had already started their campaign of terror against the victors. A look at the news of the day had shown him where the folks in the middle east had gotten their idea for partisan warfare.

Now the stadium was a sad old ghost, and even though he despised its origin, he felt a kinship with it. It seemed strange that the events he remembered so clearly were more than half a century in the past now. He, too, was a relic from the past. Absently he patted his pocket for a cigarette, then sighed, finding the packet he had in replacement. He pulled out the little black box and removed the cartridge, touching the familiar shape to his lips and inhaling.

These electronic cigarettes... Marvels of the modern age, but like so many other things he'd been promised were 'better' than he remembered, they just weren't the same. "I want a scotch," he muttered, blowing out some of the flavored vapor. Just not the same...

There were very few other people with him in the old field's walkway, but he wasn't alone. He stood for a while, trying to take some pleasure from the fake cigarettes and watching the other people move through the area. Two couples he saw, and wished he hadn't. He thought for a moment about a possible future denied, but if he was honest he'd been nosing in to a relationship that was already established.

"Honestly, Jack," he thought, "You owe me for that. If I hadn't pushed you, you'd have let her slip away and wondered how it happened."

Taking a last drag of the cigarette substitute he almost reflexively tossed it to the ground, and was ready to stomp it out, but that's not how you treated these things at all! It saved his life.

At that precise moment he was looking at a different angle than he had been, and saw the movement out of the corner of his eye as a shape moved at him with alarming speed out of the shadows!

On his last trip here he'd never been without a stalwart military escort, but his principle bodyguard, and old sea dog from the British SAS by name of Hughes Mason had insisted like hell that he learn at least a few things to defend himself. Mason had been one hell of a hardcase, too. It had helped then, when they'd been jumped by a couple of partisans while en route to a pick up...

Grant jumped back, trying to put distance between himself and his attacker, and there was a flash of cold steel in the harsh street lights. He had a few brief moments to get a look at the fellow. A middle-sized man, lean frame, forgettable appearance, face concealed behind a scarf. Angry green eyes locked with his as the man reoriented. In his hand was what looked like a dull metal tube that the man held in a reverse grip like a movie knife fighter. It looked like one of those newer trans-dermal hypo-spray units that the doctors in Eureka ware so happy with.

"Now see here!" he shouted at the man, confused and angry, but on the alert. After all, get attacked by a werewolf partisan once and you'll never forget it!

"Could've been easy, Trevor. Could've been easy… Time to go say hi to Adam Barlowe!" hissed the man as he lunged forward. Grant didn't have to be an expert fighter to recognize one when faced with one. Gasping in shock and outrage, he put both arms up in an attempt to block the man's assault!

He barely stopped it, just managing to catch the man's arm in both of his. His ribcage exploded in pain as the other man's free arm exploited the opening, and something made a popping noise. The pain was memorable.

Out of desperation, Grant twisted hard, rather poorly executing one of Mason's moves, but doing it nonetheless. The other man yelped in pain, as did Grant when his broken rib protested mightily, but he managed to twist around while holding onto the man's arm, and levered the man over in a judo throw.

Again, it was poorly executed, so instead of flying away from him, the man landed at Grant's feet. He had eyes only for the syringe devise though, and bent his head forward, biting hard on the meat of the man's bare hand. He tasted blood.

His assailant screamed in terrified outrage, but Grant didn't really care. "In a fight, son, you do everything you bloody well can to ensure _you _walk away and _he _doesn't!" snarled the ghost of Hughes Mason in his ear. "There is no such thing as a fair fight!"

They syringe dropped, and Grant let go of his assailant, fumbling for the device. The man reacted with speed and violence, levering a kick up from the ground striking quite hard against Grant's hip. Pain flared. Instead of limping away, however, he yelled his outrage, pivoted on the screaming leg, and snapped his hiking shoe clean into the man's face. There was a crunching sound and the man muffled a scream. Grant stumbled away, his hip not responding well and his ribs utterly protesting any movement.

His assailant rolled over, cupping his hands in his face and spitting out muffled curses. In a slipping crawl, the man finally got to his feet, glaring hate the likes of which Grant had only experienced once. No talking was going to end this, he realized. No way in hell.

He looked around, desperate for there to be a peace officer somewhere! Where were the god damned cops when you needed them? The people he had seen where nowhere to be found now, either having fled at the sight of a fight, or simply not noticing the two men in their struggle.

"It's over, smart man! You got lucky!" He moved in on Grant, now apparently ignoring the intense pain caused by the severely broken nose and lacerated forehead. Blood was pouring off the man in a grotesque display. A quick flick of his right hand produced a small and very sharp looking knife.

God, he hated knives!

The man lunged in hard and fast, and Grant was never quite sure after that why he was alive when it was over. He felt a sudden state of calm like nothing that had ever come over him, the panic just seemed to melt away, and while he somehow took a nasty cut on his right arm, he did win.

The final moment of the fight was frozen in his mind. His arm blocking the knife, a searing line of pain running along it, and the syringe device pressed against the side of the man's neck, his thumb desperately jammed against the plunger.

The man's eyes bugged out, he gagged, and staggered back, all his veins suddenly engorged and every muscle tense with agony. The man flinched, and flexed, coughed once as his eyes flooded with blood. He bent over and vomited blood and… other things… all over the ground.

Grant staggered back from the dying man, not having the presence of mind to even search the fellow for clues. It didn't matter. Beverly's people! It had to be!

But why? They hadn't stopped him from leaving Eureka. If anything, he half expected her to try again, to tempt him once more with rewriting history, but this? Assassins? What the hell?

He glanced around, suddenly fearful of a second assassin, and backed out of the light. Pain reminded him that he needed to find a doctor, and soon. He moved away from the Zeppelinfield and moved out into the night of Nuremberg. He fumbled in his pocket for his smart-phone, calling for help.

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** So, please don't kill me for bringing Trevor Grant back, but James Callis is one of my favorite actors and I really did love to hate Trevor._

_For a long while I played with the idea that Grant was enrolled at one time with the OSS, but I figured that he really was an idealized and sexed up version of J. Robert Oppenheimer. The Allies desperately needed their big brains solving problems in safe locations, not trying to be spies. Plus, having a dark fighter side to Zane was enough of a switch-up._

_The socialism comment is based on an "interview" with Oppenheimer as played by humanities scholar Clay S. Jenkinson (look for him at the Dakota Sky Education website), and it was a wonderfully enlightening and engaging event._

_In looking around, I was surprised to find out about Nuremberg's really over-the-top reputation as a Christmas town. It's something to see, apparently._

_The werewolves were partisan soldiers that continued to fight on after the Third Reich was defeated.  
_

_Lastly the Zeppelinfield has been made famous as one of Adolf Hitler's most recognized speaking places in film history. You will probably recognize it from those old clips of the exploding swastika that History Channel must insert, seemingly by contract, into every documentary on World War II._

_In a statement of irony, when you consider the regime it was founded to celebrate, it really has been used for things like Special Olympiads and is now part of the racing circuit in Europe._

_And if you caught it, yes I tried for a tie to "The Rock", but John Mason would be too old, so I brought in his daddy._


	4. Lost Loves

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**  
A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

3. LOST LOVES

_November 15, 2010_  
_Late Evening_

Jack came back down the stairs, a satisfied smile on his face. Allison looked up from her contemplation of the photo album she'd been looking at, and closed the book.

"She's out, finally." He said.

"We'll see if that lasts long. I'm not relishing the thought of another 3AM drive around town." She sighed and used both hands to rub her temples.

"Yeah, well it's my day off tomorrow so if she wakes up and needs that I can do it. When do you have to be in tomorrow?" He moved up behind her and wrapped her in a soft embrace. She smiled and leaned back into him, enjoying his touch and proximity. They kissed briefly.

"Too early!" she replied. "I'm taking over observation of the project at six thirty. This thing is going to kill me!" she groaned.

He laughed a little, then guided her down to the couch and sat beside her. Gently he moved her so her back was to his and started massaging her shoulders. She groaned a different groan this time and relaxed into his powerful ministrations.

"Oh God, that feels heavenly, Jack!" she enthused, assuming the characteristics of a rag doll.

"I told you I'm good with my hands," he preened quietly.

"As if there was any doubt after that first night!" she said heatedly.

He continued the massage, but started adding a more sensual gestures to it, a caress here, and soft touch there, the occasional kiss so some part of her coffee coloroed skin. "Let's finish this upstairs," he suggested softly, his voice rich with desire.

She agreed, giving him a burning kiss and and sparred tongues with him for a short while, letting her own hands roam across his body. The two of them retired to the master bedroom.

* * *

A long while later they rested from their mutual exertions, content in the afterglow. He was propped up slightly against the padded headboard, arm around her shoulders. She was pressed to him pleasingly, head resting on his chest, one arm wrapped around his midsection, their legs entangled.

"See?" he prodded.

She laughed and kissed his chest, "Uh huh. Like I said, no doubt. Not just your hands you're good with though, sheriff."

He smiled broadly, altogether pleased with himself, and kissed the top of her head. He was glad she'd decided to upgrade the mattress to the same prototype wonder bed that'd been installed in his bunker. Aside from being extraordinarily comfortable, the damn things breathed so well that it was actually enjoyable to cuddle afterward and not swill in your own sweat. It had never quite occurred to him that this fantastic property would mean much for sex, but he didn't mind at all.

Plus the look on Fargo's face when Jack decided to embarrass the hell out of him and explain the wondrous nature of the bed. He hadn't been sure if Douglas was going to have an apoplectic fit or what!

He thought for a bit before broaching the next subject. This probably wasn't the best time for it, but some urge in him practically demanded he ask the questions.

"Allie?" he asked quietly.

"Hm?" she responded. She was still alert.

"Have you thought any more about it?" he asked.

"About what?" she responded, acting clueless, but he could tell from the tone in her voice and the subtle shift in her breathing that she knew exactly what he was talking about. It bugged him that she'd be evasive on it, still.

"You know what I mean, honey. You, me, some friends, something old, something new, something-" he began, trying for a teasing tone, but against his best control a little bit of his irritation crept in.

"Jack!" she protested, burying her face in his chest and heaving a sigh. That did interesting things, he though, feeling her breasts press against him and move like that… He forced himself back on track.

"Come on, Allie," he said, a note of pleading in his voice. "We've been at this for months, I've been living her for four of them, and we never find time to talk about this."

She sighed again into his chest. "Tomorrow," she said, resignedly. "I'll talk to you about it tomorrow."

"What's wrong with right now?" he asked, and immediately chastised himself for being childish, but that part of him that rebelled against he Bohemian nature of his family at large was insistent. This was the responsible thing to do!

"I'm tired," she said weakly. "I just want to sleep." She was lying and he could tell. Her breathing had shifted slightly, her tone had little stress marks in it. He cursed his cop instincts, and more aptly himself for doggedly pursuing this after such mind blowing sex!

"No, it's not that," he said, his voice distant.

'Dammit, Carter, shut up!' he yelled in his own head at the cop inside.

She blew out a breath and disengaged from him, moving across the bed more toward her side. 'Well, so much for drifting off in each others arms, way to go Sheriff Jackass!' he railed against his ego. He half envisioned the cartoon devil and angel appearing on his shoulders...

"Allie-" he protested as she moved away. She said nothing.

"Honey," he tried again. "It's not a terrible thing, I just-"

She shook her head, and for the first time he noticed that his chest was a little wet. He saw in the dim shadow light that there was wetness on her cheeks. She was crying.

"I… I just…" he tried to form the words but gave up, she rolled over, her back to him.

In a quiet little voice she whispered, "I need to sleep, Jack." Her voice was wracked with sorrow, and he felt like an utter heel.

"I'm sorry, Allie," he said, feeling as lame and ineffectual as he thought he ever had.

He got up out of the bed and left her some space, retreating from the bedroom. As he was shutting the door behind him he heard her soft voice whispering something he couldn't make out, and then she broke into soft sobs.

He retreated downstairs after retrieving a bathrobe from the linen closet in the hallway, and paced the living room for a while. What was the problem? They fit so well, they worked together like anything. They laughed together, cried together when necessary, sacrificed for each other… had the most amazing sex together!

He rubbed at the back of his neck, staring at the room. Not sure what else to do he went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer without looking at the label. He missed having the beer tap, but without a home A.I. to monitor its consumption didn't really trust such a thing here. Not that Allie would have permitted it anyway. After taking a long pull from the bottle he walked slowly back to the living room.

It was obvious to him at this point that she simply didn't want to talk about marriage. The big M word. Part of him understood, he guessed, but she'd been willing to marry Nathan for a second time! Was he not good enough for marriage? Did that mean she only wanted him for a while? Did she think he wasn't good enough for her kids?

He loved her desperately, like a drowning man loves air! She made everything better, every time he looked at her he felt like he could be a better man, no _should _be one, just to make her happy. Didn't she feel the same way? Didn't she feel the same spark he'd felt that first night?

He'd never been one for self-aware romanticism, but it had felt to him like he'd found the other half of himself, after almost half his life searching he'd discovered that she really was the one, the only one. He'd never felt that way about Abby, he realized. It was sad in a way because Abby really was a fine woman, smart and funny, and all the rest, but they just didn't fit, and never really had. They'd confused the fire they felt when they argued for passion, and while the sex was good it really was just sex.

Maybe it was a product of him getting older, but every time he had sex with Allie it felt like he was touching the divine, like they were making holy communion in some ancient pagan tradition. Even calling it sex did the experience an injustice!

Didn't she love him back?

He sighed and softly hit his head with the heel of his hand. "Yes, she does, you moron. Stop questioning it!" he growled at himself, quietly.

'Then what?' his inner self demanded, 'What's the problem?'

Whatever it was, it was beyond him at the moment. He sighed, went to the small gun safe in the front closet and pulled out his service pistol. While he didn't have the same religious fervor about weapon maintenance that Jo did, every gun needed it's care, and besides, the monotony of cleaning the gun would help him order his thoughts before trying to sleep in the recliner tonight.

He was so focused on his task that he completely failed to notice the photo album sitting on the edge of the coffee table, or the date.

The cover read:

_The Wedding of Donald and Allison Aimes_  
_November 15, 1996_


	5. Ruminations

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**  
A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

4. RUMINATIONS

_December 20th, 2010  
__Midday_

"So..." Henry said, leaving the statement open.

"So? So what?" asked Jack. The two were walking down the boardwalk on Main, headed toward a working lunch break at Cafe Diem.

Henry had discovered that being mayor was more than giving speeches a long time ago, and it made his job easier to have at least one day of the week an "office" day. He usually spent those in the allotted space in City Hall, not too far from the Sheriff's office. On those days, the two men usually took working lunches. Ostensibly it was to take care of business, but the two men mostly viewed it as a solid excuse to just have some guy time.

"So, when are you asking?" Henry laughed, slapping Jack on the shoulder. "What else would I be asking?"

"Oh, come on. Leading statements like that, you could have been asking me-" Jack began, but Henry interrupted him.

"What, Jack? What else could I possibly be asking you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe if it was okay to close Main or something or other and…" he stopped, heaving a sigh and turning toward his friend, a sheepish grin on his face.

Henry stopped too, laughing and shaking his head. "You're going to make me say the words, hm? Fine. When are you popping the question, making the move, dropping to one knee and making sure that Allison is your lady?"

Jack blinked a few times. So did a few passersby. "Um," he replied, wittily.

Henry laughed a great guffaw and wrapped an arm around Jack's shoulder, leading him on. "Come on. If I have to get you drunk to answer the question, I will."

"But-"

"And 'I'm on duty' doesn't count, Jack. I'm the Mayor, remember? I think you ought to take the rest of the day off!"  
It was an unseasonably warm day, for December. Though still unquestionably jacket weather, the clouds were for a change white and puffy, scudding across the clear blue sky. There was a bit of a nip to the wind, but it was a great day to be outside. The sky had clouded up briefly around ten o'clock or so, but now was crisp and clean.

Eureka was in full preparation for the holiday, and right now the last thing Jack Carter wanted to think about was being here for it. He had his family vacation after all, darn it! It would be the first Christmas that Lexie had stated she'd be at in the last seven years, and would likely be dragging Duncan and her boys along too. Not to mention he only got to see his brothers at Christmas time anyhow.

He'd invited Allie along, but they'd had another argument a few nights ago, and she really liked spending Christmas in Eureka anyhow. He couldn't wait to get out of here!

"Earth to Sheriff Carter," Henry prompted him as they walked into Cafe Diem and were greeting by the semi-obnoxious styling of a "Santa Baby" cover by some pop girl or other. The place was decked out in fully Christmas cheer, ornaments hanging from the ceiling, a really brightly lit tree in the corner by the fireplace, and several of the accent lights were outfitted with red and green gels to alter their color.

Like some mystical spirit of Christmas cheer, Vincent was standing in front of them as if by magic. Perhaps all he had to do was touch his finger to his nose and laugh heartily too? "Gentlemen! Spiced rum? Hot tottie? Egg nog?" he offered, waving a tray laden with each of the offered beverages. Henry reached out and grabbed a spiced rum and an egg nog, nodded his thanks to Vincent, and moved the pair of them over to one of the tables. He kept the rum for himself and pushed the other toward Jack.

"Well?" he asked, a mischievous and self-satisfied smile on his face.

Jack sighed and sipped the drink. "I don't know, Henry."

Henry blinked at him, surprised. "You're kidding me!" he stated flatly.

Jack shook his head. "It never seems to be the right time to talk about it. And it sure hasn't come up between us. I want to. Badly even, but there's something… I don't know… wrong, I guess." He thought about it for a bit, resting his chin on his hand.

"We fought about it a month ago, and that fight is hanging around like a ghost. It's kind-of scaring me." He shook his head. All he wanted was to go back to that night and take all his words back, all of them, and just fall asleep with her in his arms!

Henry leaned forward on both arms, all joviality gone, looking Jack dead in the eyes. "What's going on, Jack?"

Jack sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. That it didn't really relieve the stress was no reason to stop trying it, mind. "It's hard for me to say, Henry. Believe it or not I've tried broaching the subject a few times; slipped it in a conversation here or there. It just never pans out into a subject to talk about. She either gets really busy with something or shuts down, and it's just easier not to. You know?"

"You okay, Jack?" his friend asked.

"Yeah," sighed Jack. "Hell, man. I guess I'm happy just being with her. She blows my mind, and I love her desperately." He paused and took another drink. Henry likewise sipped his.

"I tell you I even picked out a ring?" Jack asked quietly.

Henry shook his head, not saying anything.

"Yeah, about a month after that whole C.F. with Baxter and that project of his." Jack looked out the window, and Henry thought for a moment that it looked like his friend was ready to break. He'd tried getting Jack to seek professional help for the aftermath, but the man was stubborn. No, Jack Carter gave stubborn a whole new meaning.

"Jack," Henry began, a small smile on his face. He tried to put as much reassurance into his voice as he possibly could. "Everything will work out the way it's supposed to. You just have to have a little faith."

Jack snorted a bit, glancing up at him. "Déjà vu, man."

"Hm?" asked Henry

"I've said the same words to Allie on more than one occasion. I feel like the response we got on the day of the Phoenix thingy." Jack's eyes were downcast, so he missed the slight twinge around Henry's eyes when he said those words. "I'm kind-of out of faith, Henry." He made eye contact with his friend then, but Henry had mastered his momentary discomfort.

One of Vincent's waiters, a young gal whose name tag read Kelley, came by the table and took their order. Henry went for a vegetarian plate, Jack, predictably for a bacon cheeseburger with fries. He noted the look in Henry's eyes and pre-empted him. "Don't start. This job keeps me running enough that I can have that on my working Mondays. Zoe and Allie are teaming up every other day of the week!"

Henry held up his hands in a gesture for truce and laughed. They sat in silence for a while, and Henry mulled over what he was going to say next. Was it his place?

"Jack, how much do you know about Kevin's father?" Henry asked quietly.

Jack blinked and looked at him. He was confused for the moment. Why would Henry be bringing this up? "Um... I know he died about the time Kevin was born. I'm not too clear on many of the details after that. It's not a part of her life she likes to talk about."

Henry nodded, considered, and then continued. "I was a professor at large at Harvard when Tess and Allison were in their grad programs. That's actually where Nathan and Allison met, but at the time she was dating a fellow by the name of Donald Aimes."

Jack shifted, uncomfortable about the direction this was going. "Henry..." he began, but trailed off.

"Donald was a good man. He was one of my students for a while, as was Nathan. His focus suffered for it a bit, I could tell the man was head over heels in lnove with someone, and he brought her to a class dinner I was hosting for several of my brighter students. She was an amazing girl back then, Jack." Henry took a sip of his rum and lost himself in memories for a while.

"She's amazing now, Henry." Jack said quietly.

Henry nodded, jarred out of his memories, and continued. "They had quite the whirlwind romance, if I remember. Don was a firebrand, though. Passionate about science in a way that invigorates those he works with, but ultimately misguided."

Jack quirked an eyebrow at that. "What do you mean?"

"He… Well let's say that like Nathan, Don had a particularly practical bent to his application of science. He advocated for a meritocracy, maybe even oligarchial rule, and wasn't shy about being vociferous. He tried to get me to lend support to his ideas and causes, but in the end we wound up parting ways. Once you balance the rest of the equation, Jack, it's our freedoms that make us great. It's protecting those values, those ideals of individual liberty that make us what we are. Don never saw that."

"He went a different course than Nathan, but by the end of that year I'd lost my best and brightest pupils to _politics_!" Henry almost snarled. There was a ghost of an old hurt in his voice, but Jack knew from years of friendship with the man that they were old demons, and Henry had battled them one by one over the years.

"So, where's this leading, Henry?" Jack asked.

"I don't know if it's what got Don killed, or not, Jack. It was within him to sabotage research that he thought was misguided and wrongheaded, but we never had any proof. He invited me to the wedding, even though we were at odds, he still respected me, and I him. It was a beautiful, but simple affair." Henry smile wistfully at the memories, living in another time. It had done him good then to be reminded that love could still happen. A few years before that Kim had left him. If only…

Jack waited for Henry to finish, but it looked like his friend was getting lost in the memories. "So, what happened?" he pushed.

Henry sighed and rubbed at his face with one hand. "About a year after the wedding, Don died in a lab fire. The lab was rumored to be working on genetic bio-weapons, but there was never any proof. Neither of the arson nor the research"

Kelley came by with their orders, smiled at them brightly and said she'd be right back with refills for their drinks. In unison they said "Water, please." then glanced at each other and chuckled.

Henry pinned Jack down with his gaze. "Think about it, Jack."

He was, but he didn't want to really make a show of it. Jack thought through the logic chain, as short as it was, and compared known facts with the situation. The similarities to his insistence a few years ago that insuring a cop was killing a cop floated up from his memory.

It was possible, likely even, that Allison feared that if she put on the ring and was ready to say the vows, he would be taken away. Like Nathan, who had left her a child. Like Don, who had left her a child.

"When was this fight you told me about earlier?" Henry asked. "Do you remember what day it was?"

Jack nodded, saying,"Yeah, um… Fifteenth of last month, just over a month ago."

Henry drew in a breath and held it, slowly letting it out through his nostrils. "That's the date of her first wedding aniversary, Jack. She hasn't said this?"

Jack stared at him blankly, then dropped the fry he was going to eat and put his face in his hands. He made a groaning noise that was lost in the relative racket of the eatery.

"Could I have picked a worse night for that!" he muffled into his hands.

Henry patted his forearm reassuringly, bud didnt' say much of anything.

As the music shifted to yet another classical Christmas song, this one thankfully by a better cover artist, they dug into their meals and tried to pass the rest of the hour with less heavy conversation.

* * *

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** I realized about half-way through this that I had already brought Zane and Jo together and that I had violated canon by doing that before "O Little Town", so I guess I'm marching down the AU avenue. I am still imagining events very similar to what happened in that episode, even though it doesn't officially appear in the main continuity, but I won't be writing a variant on it. Assume though that events play out very similar, just that Zane and Jo version of the Santa's lap conversation is a bit more... interesting._

_Obviously the Big M is hanging like a ghost between Jack and Allie. It's for a reason, hang in there with me._

_Yes, I am marching back and forth in time here, trying to be narratively interesting while also obeying a chronology of sorts. Technically from this POV Grant's encounter with the wold-be assassin happens in probably two hours or so._

_If you have speculations don't be shy, I have an outline but who knows? Inspiration comes from many sources._


	6. Machinations

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**  
A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

5. MACHINATIONS

Exact day unknown  
An undisclosed location in the Federal Republic of Germany

"Shall we start again, Herr Grant?" asked the man in the charcoal business suit. He had pinched features, as though his perpetual expression was one of distaste. His dark hair, peppered here and there with touches of gray that seemed too well placed to be natural, was slicked back against his narrow skull. His eyes, small and shifty, and too closely placed, peered out from a pair of reading glasses that seemed a size too small for effectiveness. The man picked fastidiously at a perceived fault in his trousers as he sat primly on the other side of the cold stone desk.

Cold...

That described pretty much everything about the room, his captors, and his captivity. This entire prison facility, if that's really what it was, was kept five degrees too cold. Of course that would be Fahrenheit, no matter what these fascists called a proper thermometer. His guards were, to a man, silent and emotionless, but also firm and unbending in their severity.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Herr Bach," began doctor Charles Grant, casting a sardonic smile toward the other man, earning yet another sour look in return.

Grant reflected that this would probably cost him some pain, and probably soon. Whoever these guys were, they weren't playing by the rules as he knew them. Perhaps it was more a case in point that they _were _playing by the rules he knew, and not by everything he'd been led to believe about the newer and more forgiving West that he'd landed in. These guys were acting like wartime guards... His protests of United States citizenship and possession of proper identification had netted him absolutely nothing, and their utter indifference to his status was chilling to say the least.

He'd been seized while still in the hospital in Nuremberg. Two men in police uniforms had been escorting "detective" Adelfried Bach, had identified him, verified that his injuries were stable, and then taken him into custody. He'd been bundled into a low riding Mercedes that was waiting outside, with one goon accompanying him into the back seat, and Bach and the other goon stepping into the front. The windows were heavy and thick, so thick that Grant knew they had been bulletproofed. No ordinary cop car. That they had been dark enough to count as blackout shades and utterly blind him from seeing outside had been worse.

"Of course not, Herr Grant," said Bach in a pinched tone

Since then he wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been kept, but it had been a few days. He'd not seen a single window in the entire place. His clothing and possessions had been taken, and he'd been issued a formless prisoner's garment made of some sort of modern wonder-fabric. The materials these people in the future had were astounding sometimes...

Bach shook his head and peered at Grant as though he was trying to decide what part he should cut off first. At length he continued, saying, "We've been over the particulars of your associations in the last several years, mister Grant, and you quite simply do not check out. It is time that I level with you, I suppose."

"Well, you know a little bit of consideration might go a long way toward-" Grant began, but stopped as the goon behind him dropped a hand on his shoulder in response to Bach's eye twitch, and squeezed. It was not bruising force, but it hit on all the right nerves, and the pain was exquisite.

It was not his first lesson that these guys knew how to hurt without leaving a mark. If he was ever released there'd be no proof of abuse on his person.

"Mister Grant, please." Bach sighed and stood, starting a small pacing stride about the featureless interrogation room. "This is not the world you seem to think it is, and just because you claim to be an American does not mean that you are who you say you are."

He stopped, face twitching a little, then turned to look at Grant. "So let us cut the bullshit. Whoever you are, you're not Charles Grant. That man is a sham, a facade. Shall we recount what we do know about you?"

Grant twitched, trying to retain the cool demeanor that had served him so well in his days as one of his nation's chief scientists, one of the men who'd made this age possible, dammit! It was hard though, in the face of this cool impassiveness.

"We know that your life is a lie. You did not go to the schools on record, your identifying markers do not appear anywhere in the system prior to several months ago. Your supposed family does not check out either. Your financial affairs show either an alarming amount of foresight or a disgusting amount of luck, enough to be impossible, frankly, and we won't even get started on the irregularities of your blood. I am told that some of our more excitable scientists are convinced you're carrying a tailored pathogen."

At his shocked look, Bach simply favored him with a gimlet smile. "Of course we detected that."

Grant thought furiously. What was the man talking about? Was it the nano-bots he'd been injected with so many months ago, the ones designed by that beautiful torturess Doctor Blake? A pathogen?

"On top of that, your markers were found all over the scene of a murder at the Zeppelinfield Stadium. Statements taken from witnesses identify a man of your build standing alone as if waiting for someone. In the trash near the murder scene we find a hypodermic applicator with your prints all over it, and can clearly show it to be the murder weapon. What's more, the weapon contains dosages of a neurotoxin that are designed to kill in seconds."

This was the most Bach had spoken to him in many hours. The prior sessions had all been blank question and answer sessions, prodding and poking at him to weaken his resolve. This… this was something altogether more frightening. Bach was setting up a case to indict Grant as a terrorist, and doing it effectively!

"You can't be serious!" snarled Grant, staring at the German spook. There's no way this man wasn't an intelligence officer of some kind, no way! "I defended myself from that man, he was there to kill me, you moron!"

Bach smiled at him, unfazed by the outburst. The smile was cold, heartless, and didn't for a second reach his eyes. The demeanor was cold and reptilian. "Herr Grant. While your injuries suggest defensive wounds, the fact remains that the dead man checks out. Herr Jaeger was a respected man in his community. He had two children, which you no doubt are already aware, and a wife as well. They are in mourning now. His co-workers at the public transit union are no doubt wondering why anyone would wish to murder him."

He paused for a bit while Grant fished for words, then continued. "Put simply, you are a non-entity. Your existence is a lie, hence your reality his a lie. I suggest you consider quite strongly that unless you provide us with meaningful information, we have no use for you. We do not keep what we do not have use for in Germany, Herr Grant."

Bach stood back and motioned to the guard. The man helped Grant stand, and ushered him out of the interrogation room and into the rest of the secret prison at large. There was nothing emotional about any of it.

It sunk home then. Bach and his goons simply didn't care. That was the truly frightening thing about all of this. They had no emotional tie to it all. He'd seen that in how they moved and how they talked. If there were other prisoners they never issued a peep. These men would do their perceived duty and neither be thrilled nor repulsed. If Bach said "shoot him", the any goon at hand would pull his gun and put two rounds in his head. Grant wanted to throw up.

He was deposited in his cell, a windowless small chamber with a single cot and a prison style privy/sink and metal mirror. The light never shut off, he'd discovered, and was protected by wire mesh. Anything hard or sharp had been removed when he'd been given these formless garments.

Grant sat and put his head in his hands, and for the first time in what felt like a very, very long time, he considered praying.

* * *

Over the next few days, or perhaps just sleeping periods, Grant had time to explore his personal resolve.

Interrogation stepped up after that last meeting with Bach. The methods growing ever more strident, but their focus never waned. It became obvious what his captors wanted. Information and details that would direct them toward his supposed compatriots.

What a joke. The fact that he was telling the absolute truth that he was in no way involved with any shadow conspiracies only seemed to motivate his captors even harder to find out what he was hiding.

He had time to consider things in the moments that they left him to himself. It was after the first water-boarding session that he came to a few conclusions.

First, there was no way in hell he was giving in to these bastards! He focused his fear into anger, and his anger into hate, a burning core of emotion that he could keep stoked and hot, ready to pull on whenever he needed to deal with whatever they were throwing his way.

Second, he discovered a purpose. The last several months had been wandering and confusion. Who was he? What was he? A man out of time? A lost wast product from a past no one wanted? But this experience… these people. For all their vaunted civility their removal from the regimes he'd fought against with all his brilliance during the War was but one of degrees.

It was the third or fourth water-boarding session that put that one into place. He'd cracked a little bit then, given his real name, started talking about the nuclear programs in Los Alamos. His cursing and swearing that compared them to the Nazis didn't go over well, but he was beyond giving a shit at that point.

Whatever it was these monsters stood for, it wasn't worth it. They were going down the wrong roads. Bach and his cronies were just a symptom of it though. These people didn't deserve what they had. All built on the sacrifice of the noble men and women he'd known and fought for, these fascist bastards thought they were the rightful heirs of that generation. Ha!

He vowed after the first session of pain therapy that whatever he had to do, he would.

* * *

He'd completely lost track of the days, the hours, any method of time tracking. He hadn't shaved in what felt like weeks. His hair was a mess, he hadn't showered in days. It was their latest dehumanization trick.

He'd conquered the loud and discordant music with meditation and exercise, working himself into exhaustion too deep to be denied and focusing his thoughts with complex formulas and figures, working on some of the more advanced learning he'd picked up in Eureka and working solutions in his head.

When the door opened and the goon he'd named Max stepped in, Grant stood, ready for another round of their bullshit. He was surprised when the man took him to the showers instead of one of the torture chambers. Max, as dispassionate as ever, gave him a small plastic bag with several toiletries including deodorant, a razor, an apparently charged electric trimmer, and the works.

"Wasch dich" he said. Grant was to clean himself then. Not looking for the mandated trap, he resolved to take advantage of this moment to re-humanize himself.

He took a good long look in the mirror in the showers. If there was any place in this whole facility that gave over what it might have been once, it was these showers. White tile and half-round alcoves, mirrors made of polished metal, simple plunger operated mechanics that would be difficult to get at to make shivs out of. It had to have been at least two weeks, he decided. The hair on his face was about right. He'd been due for a hair cut before this whole mess started, now he looked like a wild man. The dark circles couldn't be taken care of, but, the rest.

He took his own sweet time enjoying the hot water and the sensations of getting clean. When he was done he felt once more, at least a little bit, like the debonair and suave man that lurked within. He cast a charming smile at the mirror and winked. "There you are, Doctor Grant," he murmured. Max showed up a while later with new clothes, still in their plastic bags, and Grant dressed himself in short order with a new pair of slacks and a belt, a sport jacket over a clean white shirt, dress socks and a pair of fine shoes. He disdained the tie, it wasn't his style.

Max and Milo, the other bruiser he'd been exposed to frequently, were waiting for him when he walked out of his impromptu dressing room, coat jauntily hung over one shoulder and his shirt sleeves rolled up, a polite and self-satisfied grin on his face. One of them was sure to belt him in the stomach in a moment, he thought, but he'd live it up as long as he could.

Neither man showed any interest in his attitude. "Go, auf diese weise," growled Milo, pointing down the hall. Grant shrugged and went where they pointed.

A few short hallways later he found himself in a chamber similar to one of the interrogation rooms, only there were more people than Herr Bach waiting for him. He almost lost his stride when he saw them.

The man he didn't recognize. He was a streamlined, middle-sized blond-haired fellow, but carried himself with a calm and surety that spoke volumes. It was like looking at Mason Hughes all over again. Whoever he was, Grant recognized the signs that said "this man is very dangerous!"

Even so, he barely had the presence of mind to take all that in when he saw who that man was escorting. She'd been impressive to look at the first time he'd met her, but now she looked utterly stunning. She didn't have the same exotic heritage that had made Allison Blake such a stunner, but there was a classical beauty to this woman that took his breath away.

"Beverly," he breathed. In the flesh. Beverly Barlowe…

Her long brunette hair was coiled over one shoulder, her flashing green eyes lively. She was dressed in what you could loosely call business attire, though she made it look more like a model's attire than a serious business woman's.

She smiled at him, a calm and reserved expression, but he noted a twinkle in her eye that denoted a genuine happiness. Her escort only had eyes for the twin mountains guarding Grant.

Mister Bach cleared his throat. He was looking decidedly nonplussed. The reptilian features were turned into a frown, and this expression was reflected in his flat eyes. "There you are, Ms. Raines."

His voice was sharp and harsh, almost angry. The atmosphere in the room felt as though a stray spark could ignite it.

She sniffed disdainfully and walked toward Grant as the two guards backed off a little, surveying him. "Malnourished, exhausted, razor burns… Are you sure you're running a prison Herr Bach? He looks more like a camp detainee."

"Do not pretend to tell us what to do here, Ms. Raines. We are allies, not your subordinates." His voice was brittle. His eyes reflected a raw hate that Grant hadn't seen in the man until now. True, he'd been getting more and more agitated as Grant held out, and the inconsistencies in his stories had made the man even more frustrated, but this raw anger was new. Grant decided that the best course of action was to remain silent.

Beverly completed her survey and walked back to her escort, her gait one calculated to draw attention to her… ahem… assets. Every man in the room, save her escort, noticed.

"Mister Bach," she said, "My opinion hardly matters here. The agreement is made and the prisoner is ours now." The smugness in her voice wasn't concealed well, and Grant recognized a weapon when it was deployed.

Bach seethed. He took a moment to master himself and nodded sharply, once. "Go, then, before I decide that you never showed up here at all."

That made her laugh, and Grant had a sudden fear that she was itching for a fight. "I don't think you'd want my man here to decide you were threatening me, mister Bach."

The escort didn't do much more than shift, but his presence in the room suddenly magnified. His attention now firmly fixed on Bach with a dispassionate, dehumanizing gaze. It flicked briefly to Milo and Max, as though the man was calculating how to maximize his efficiency at butchering everyone in the room.

Beverly smiled without the least humor. "Are we settled, then, mister Bach?"

Bach stiffened, stood up straight, and nodded sharply. "You may go. Thank you for your visit Ms. Raines." He turned and left through the door that the twin goons had pushed Grant through.

Beverly smiled with more warmth at Grant. "Trevor" she said, a pleased tone to her voice. She extended her arm to him. He hesitated for only half a second before stepping forward and hooking her arm in his, as though he were a gentleman taking his lady on a stroll.

"Ms. Raines," he greeted. "If I may say, it is a distinct pleasure to see you again."

"Always the charmer, Trevor." He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

The escort moved to the other door, and in short order they were outside a facility somewhere in the rural countryside.

The only question in Trevor Grant's mind at that moment was had he been released, or just gone from the frying pan into the fire?

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **I've been writer blocked on this story for a week. Every time I tried to get going on something it seemed like crap. I finally decided to see where Grant was holding up and what was going on in his life, and things are moving again. Some music and some drinks, and time to get writing I guess!_

_Let me know what you think, and as always feel free to speculate. I really appreciate reviews, as they help me keep my focus on the story and let me know what you all like and don't. I realize it's perhaps a bit early since everything is still in the set up phases, but all the same._

_Also please don't take Grant's situation to be anything more than the situation he's in. I'm not making a comment on Germany in specifics or anything political myself, just setting up Grant for his own views to have an impact._

_I hope I got the German right, I'm relying on Google Translate for that!_

_Thank you for reading!_


	7. First Steps

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**  
A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

6. FIRST STEPS

_Early January, 2011  
Eureka, OR_

The call came in during the Christmas break. It had been so long since the agreements had been made that she was starting to wonder if the call would ever come, but those people never forgot a favor owed, a debt yet to be repaid, a kindness done, or a betrayal.

As the coded message had promised, the requisite materials to do her job were located where they should have been, delivered by an equally isolated operator that she would never know or contact. In many ways the whole affair felt like a spy movie, and there was a certain amount of excitement to going along with these clandestine orders. The thrill of evading capture, and the satisfaction of achieving your goals with the enemy none the wiser.

Who gave those orders? She would never be sure. The voice was pitch modulated and sent over multiple spoofed identities and phone lines routed about the entire world. Sometimes the old tricks were the best, but that didn't mean that the consortium limited it's operations to old tactics, not by a long shot. No, the consortium as a whole, as near as she could tell, used whatever means were necessary to achieve the ends of its directors, whoever they were.

As she worked according to the instructions, mixing the apparently innocuous chemicals in the delivery to their appointed solutions, she reflected on the bigger questions beyond the who, being the "why". Why did she do this, why did she acquiesce to the will of another human she had never met and likely never would meet. Why she would submit to the bidding of shadowy people in far away locales who could just as easily hide their motivations in other ways.

The answer was simple: She believed.

In the end it came down to the ideology she'd learned as a younger woman. The depths of science that Eureka plumbed were vast and wide, their results intriguing on so many levels, but always in the end it was short sighted fools who didn't understand or appreciate their work that wound up using the fruits of their labors. The inherent injustice of working baby killer grants so that she could get funding to do real lifesaving work chafed with a severity that was hard to keep hidden from her co-workers and friends. So many of them seemed content, bought off on patriotic pap. The good of the nation, and all that rah rah. More like the good of the State, though that wasn't a phrase one could use openly and expect to still be taken seriously.

Still, some of those people were friends, and in her heart she wished them no ill will. Being misguided and believing that the machine told you didn't make you evil, even if it did make you complicit. She hoped that one day they'd understand, assuming they ever found out about the heroic measures she and others had taken to free them from the shackles of the military industrial complex. Such fools as controlled that had no clue how to properly run a place like Eureka, let alone a country. It was a sad but true fact that no matter how right and just she and the other faceless members of the consortium were, they'd always be viewed as traitors.

She finished the solutions, packed everything into their delivery ampules, and tried to get some sleep. Tomorrow would be a busy day, and the students' food would arrive before 5am.

* * *

Kevin Blake sat at the lunch table with his best friends Dre and Connor. The three boys were an inseparable bunch; fierce, independent, daring, troublemakers to a minor degree, and all unquestionably brilliant. Each had a given field of expertise, but the three of them complimented each other well. Kevin's understanding of robotics was second to none, and he regularly showed up his professors. He recalled with a certain amount of pride the frustration of a few of his more rigidly minding professors and his Mom's reactions to them. Dre, on the other hand, was a fantastic social person. He knew people, how they ticked, especially his fellow students. He tended to talk about it too much, so less self-aware students generally labeled him "word nerd". Connor, the third boy, was a new addition to their circle in the last part of last year. His area of brilliance lay in math, his ability to crunch raw numbers rivaled Kevin's, and probably exceeded it. Connor was already studying advanced placement math theory at age 15.

Dre was regaling Connor with his and Kevin's exploits the previous night on "Way of the Dragon Warrior", a limited release multiplayer online game that both boys were in limited beta testing for. The game had been developed by a team of the VR interface specialists there in Eureka, all members of Global Dynamics Commercial Development labs, with an eye toward taking the gaming world by storm. Kevin wasn't as thrilled with the game as Dre was. The expansion they'd had a few months ago, even if it was kind of a cheap rip on World of Warcraft, had been better than both WoW and this latest chapter. The story was more epic in that one. This one felt derivative and shallow, but it was fun playing with Dre. The other boy's social brilliance transformed their experience online into something amazing, and he had this ability to get the other players to work together that was astounding. Already their principality, this game's version of others guilds or fleets, contained a number of adults who gladly listened to Dre's thoughts on how they were to tackle every obstacle that came in their party's way.

"Darnit!" sighed Connor, pushing up his glasses. Kevin thought it was a funny habit. In this town choosing to wear glasses like that was almost a statement, there were so many ways to correct vision problems! "I signed up for the beta but never got anywhere. I wish you guys could invite me!"

Kevin chuckled a little and glanced at Dre. Dre smiled like the cat that ate the canary. "Well considering that of the players in the beta my principality is the best, I can probably get one of the guys in Commercial Dev to open up another slot for the beta, you know... for a price."

Connor's face fell, and Kevin nudged Dre. "I'm kidding, Connor!" Dre said, laughing. "We're friends, 'course I'll see if one of my minions can do something for ya!"

Connor was pretty new at Tesla, he'd fallen in with Kevin and Dre easily enough, but he wasn't much for getting along with most everyone else. The two continued to talk while Kevin continued to work.

Right at that moment, as he shoved food in his mouth with one hand, he was using his other to pry into the code running his character, Korath the Unstoppable, in the game. If he could figure out a few of the code tweaks he might be able to exploit a few of the games flaws. He knew it wasn't strictly allowed, but it wasn't outright stated as a rule either. Getting the code had been a bit of a trick, but sometimes it wasn't so bad to have one of the department heads of Global Dynamics for a mom, even if she was nuts his last year.

The way she'd practically melted down on his 14th Birthday was embarrassing, but he kept it a little secret that it was awesome to have a mom that really cared. A few of his peers in Tesla didn't have nearly half as much interaction with their parents; Dre for instance. Oh if asked he'd say it sucked hard core, but inside he had a little bit of an idea how special his relationship with is mom really was. The events several months ago had be a real lightning bolt in his life. Almost losing her had nearly driven him insane, and he wasn't anywhere near as upset anymore if she felt the need to be so involved in his life. She seemed to have gotten over whatever temporary insanity had ruled her after Founder's day last year.

Part of that, he supposed, was Jack. He'd been pissed as hell when Jack had suddenly announced he "liked" Kevin's mom. He damned well knew what it meant when a guy "liked" a girl, and the last thing he wanted was Jack, cool as he was, to use his mom. That just wasn't cool at all! He'd thought of Jack as the adult buddy, the guy he could hang with and do cool stuff with to get away from Mom's occasional bouts of lunacy, especially after Nathan had died, and he'd been a safe factor with his deep involvement with Tess Fontana.

It wasn't the first time he'd thought the town went partially insane after that day. It still kinda sucked that Tess wasn't here anymore. He kept in semi-regular contact with her still, her being a sort of aunt figure to him as close of a friend as she was to Mom and all, but he hadn't yet broached the subject of Jack and his mom getting together only two months after she left. First of all that was girl stuff, and talking girl stuff with a girl was just… wrong! Secondly, though, Jack mostly made his mom happy. Possibly happier than Nathan had. It wasn't like Nathan wasn't cool or hip, the dude had been about the coolest guy in town, but there'd been almost no relating to the man. Kevin had always had the feeling that Nate only gave everyone maybe half of his attention, because the rest of his was too busy with important stuff. Jack had never been like that.

Jack though. Like a few other folks Jack had changed last year. There was something about him that Kevin didn't have the experience to name, but the man that had come out from within him in that whole crisis, how willing he'd been to put his life on the line for Kevin's Mom… Well if he'd doubted Jack after giving his blessing on dating his Mom, Kevin knew the dude was serious now.

Another thing too; even though she was a princess sometimes the idea of Zoe Carter as a step-sister, especially as cool as she could be, wasn't a bad thing. It meant he'd have to stop thinking of her a certain way, but there was always Jo, too. She was pretty smokin' hot.

"Aha!" he said suddenly, then smiled at his buddies. "Eureka, Dre! I cracked it!"

The other two immediately crowded over his tablet to look at the computer information displayed on the screen. It really looked like nothing so much as a bunch of random colored text and numbers, but all three of them understood every line of it. In triumph Kevin popped the last of his taco in his mouth and munched happily, basking in the glow of his buddies' admiration.

Another figure was surveying the scene while taking apart the lunch line. Skilled as she was at covert surveillance, no one noticed the temporary lunchroom worker smile in satisfaction as Kevin Blake continued eating. As difficult as it was to put a tailored chemical into the food of a specific person, she had to admit that this solution was far more elegant; flood all the food with the tasteless chemicals that would only react to one specific DNA trigger. They would bond with existing markers in the target and begin enacting the desired changes.

Now to sit back and watch.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes: **And events continue. Writing for Kevin is interesting. While I'd like to say I haven't thought like a 14 year old boy in way too many years, the truth is that attitude is still in the back of my mind somewhere, so this was pretty fun. Even (especially) if I'm a mean drug pusher trying to infect Eureka's youth! Boo! Hiss! twirling of mustache ensues  
_

_Let me know what you think, and as always feel free to speculate. I really appreciate reviews, as they help me keep my focus on the story and let me know what you all like and don't._

_Thank you for reading!_


	8. Confidence

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**  
A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

7. CONFIDENCE

_January 11th, 2011_  
_Eureka, OR_

The punch wasn't amateurish so much as it was out of practice. Jo handily evaded the strike and parried the blow just slightly off target, grabbing her assailant's extended arm in a tight grip and twisting. She broke the contact before she could elicit much more than a startled yelp of shock and pain from her student. She was sure at this point that said student was thinking of the relationship more in lines of tormentor and victim and less as master and disciple.

She disengaged and stepped away from her charge, expression neutral. "Allison," she said with a note of disappointment, "You really have to stop hitting like a girl."

Allison sighed expansively, her exhalation tinged with a measure of the frustration she was experiencing. Getting her old self-defense training up to date was not going as well as she had thought it might, though there was progress. She just wished it had been more rather than less.

At present they were in the basement of Jo's-and she supposed at this point Zane's-replacement home. Allison had been coming here twice a week for a several weeks now, ever since she'd felt the motivation to get out and about again. After Tom Baxter's Lobot fiasco and her subsequent violation at that asshole's hands she'd withdrawn from a lot of her life. Three weeks of leave with Idha taking over her duties, cancellation of virtually every external activity… It hadn't been healthy and as a doctor she knew it, knew she needed to get out and engage again, but it was so hard.

Jack had been a true blessing. Not demanding anything, always supportive, always ready to lend a hand, even refusing to judge her when she wished to pour her heart out at Nathan's gravestone. It hurt her that he couldn't be as understanding about other things. His dogged pursuit of the ring and ceremony was driving a wedge between them. If she was honest with herself, she thought, it was both of their behaviors that were at fault, but right now it was easier to blame the active party.

Allison sighed and brought her mind back to the training mat. "Sorry, Jo. I'm trying-" she began, but was interrupted from the sidelines.

"Do or do not, there is no try" said Zane, imitating that annoying green puppet from Star Wars. If there was one thing Allison was desperately grateful for in Zane and Jack's improving friendship, it was that the two of them could go see some of the lamer science fiction movies that she really didn't care for. Star Wars repeat viewings ranked among the highest, especially in Eureka. Every year it seemed the petition to get Gene Roddenberry's birthday declared a work holiday came up, over and over.

"Zane!" Jo snapped, sending a glare his way. He chuckled and held up his hands, blowing her a kiss, then went back to the computer sitting in his lap. He was here to serve as an additional "training dummy" if needed.

Jo resumed her ready stance and turned back to Allison. "Again!" she demanded.

Sighing in resignation, Allison resumed a ready stance of her own and prepared herself mentally for some more pain. Jo was trying to teach her a mixture of Systema and Krav Maga, two of the security chief's favorites. Both were brutal art forms, but also were easier to pick up than some other martial arts Allison had learned back when she'd been training to be an Agent for the DoD.

She was never expected to be a front line bad-guy hunter, like Jack had been, but the Department of Defense was serious when they passed out badges. If you were an agent, you were trained to do the job.

Jo showed her a few more maneuvers in slow motion, coaching Allison through the holds and the locks. The first was a variation on one of the earliest reversals Allison had learned from the security chief. In this instance an assailant grabbed you from behind, but instead of the awkward choke hold that was thought most common, the assailant's grab was to the shoulder to immobilize the target for a rapid kidney shot with the assailant's knife.

Allison did as she was bade and lined up for the strike, executing a grab on Jo from behind and trying to touch the training knife to her target. Jo, still in teaching mode, showed the slow motion reversal and disarm, which went by fast even on what Jo deemed "easy-mode". The finish to this variation spun the assailant to the ground while the defender reversed roles and now used the captured knife for multiple strikes to the lower rib cage and abdomen.

Allison tried her part of the maneuvers next, performing them again and again. It was Jo's mantra that "practice made perfect" and she was tireless in the role of torturer/teacher.

"Enough, Allison," Jo said with a smile a short while later, sensing that the lesson was rightfully over, even if Allison wanted to continue. There was a point you just didn't absorb any more. Besides they'd been at it for at least an hour-and-a-half. "Come on, lets head upstairs and get cleaned up."

Allison just nodded tiredly, picking up her water bottle from the floor and taking long pulls from it. Zane had disappeared somewhere during their last bout, but she'd missed that; not so much his smart ass attitude, though.

After catching their respective showers Jo and Allison met in the spacious and airy kitchen, taking seats at the breakfast bar attached to the island. Zane breezed by in motorcycle duds with a causal "Goin' for a ride, be back soon, love!" He also stole a somewhat heated but quick kiss from Jo before exiting the house and tearing off on his bike.

Jo shook her head and grumbled, "At least he didn't say 'babe.' Goddammit I hate that, and I know he says it just to get my goat! Beer?"

Allison declined, saying "No, thanks. But I will take one of those electrolyte waters I know you stock."

Jo snickered and grabbed one of the water bottles out of her refrigerator along with an unmarked brown bottle. She passed Allison the water and expertly removed the cap on her beer. "Missing out, I got this special from an old friend who turned cop out in Chicagoland. He gets it from some really hole-in-the-wall pub. Bobby says the brewer would kill me if he knew I was chilling it!"

Allison took a long pull from the spiked water, enjoying the rush from the crisp clean flavor as well as the immediate refreshment that had to be at least 60% placebo effect, but she didn't care. She make a face at Jo, saying, "He serves it warm? That's worse than cold beer!"

Jo laughed and took another pull from the bottle, savoring the flavors intently. "To each their own vice, right?"

"You sound like Charles," Allison laughed lightly, thinking of the suave and debonair time traveler for the first time in months.

Jo rolled here eyes. "The smooth talking king! He was a looker though. I know he hasn't been back in town, mostly because I haven't had to hear Jack bitch about him or break up a showdown on Main. You ever hear from him or find out where he's been?"

Allison shook her head and took another drink.

Jo smiled and said, "I could think of a few guys that could stand to have a tenth of his charm, Jack included."

Allison laughed lightly, disagreeing, "Oh Jack's got plenty of his own. It's the competence without having to boast though."

"Yeah? I can see that," Jo said absently. She heaved a sigh and locked eyes with Allison. "Alright, level with me. Vin says you and Jack are fighting, what gives?"

Allison flushed a little and looked away. "It's nothing, Jo."

"Bullshit!" Jo pronounced, but grinned widely when Allison looked up, eyes hard. "Neither of you two are half-way about anything. What's going on? Really, Allison. I'm not playing for the enemy right now."

Allison sighed and rested her elbows on the island. "I don't know, Jo. We got into it a little while ago. He really, badly, wants us to get married, and I'm… I guess I'm scared."

"Scared?" asked Jo. "Seriously? Jack's like a puppy in the attachment thing, and you and he are such good friends…"

"I know," said Allison shaking her head. "But lets be honest, Jo. What's my track record?"

Jo had been about to say something and paused, mouth open while she ran through that in her head. Her jaw snapped shut and she looked away. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Allison reached out and touched Jo's shoulder. "Don't be. Sometimes we all need to talk about things so we can deal with them."

"Hey now," Jo cautioned, "This isn't an open invitation to run a psych eval the security chief." She blunted the comment a little with a wry grin, but Allison could sense the tension.

She shook her head and smiled at Jo. "You're right Jo. Besides, Grace is much better at that, anyhow. This is just girl talk."

Jo chortled in a decidedly masculine way and took a slug from her beer. "I think I like guy talk better," she said with a wry grin.

"So you say," Allison teased. "But I remember you helping me buy my last wedding dress."

Jo blushed and dropped her eyes. "Hey," she said, "It was a pretty dress!"

Then her expression sobered and she said, "Seriously, Jack's on the matrimonial bandwagon… Want me to corner him and give him a direct heads up? You know guys, they don't get subtle. I picked up a little Martian in the Rangers."

"No, but thank you, Jo." Allison smiled at her.

Jo blushed a little and shrugged.

"I'm serious, you have no idea what a confidence booster you being here to help me has been. It's more than the training. You're helping me find a balance and it makes all this easier." Allison looked out over the back yard and the rest of the house that she could see.

Usually when in private with Jo, Allison got the secret girl that the other woman hid away so often, but when she smiled here the tough chick was making her presence known. "Being ready to kick a little more ass never hurts."

Allison raised her water bottle and Jo matched the toast. "To kicking ass," Jo intoned, "Literally and figuratively."

* * *

_Helmfast 4th, 7th year of the Age of Ruin_  
_The Traitor's Cathedral in Arvandor_

_Late in the evening… more or less._

"Hold the line!" screamed Davakos, his voice tight with tension. The mage began the preparations for his next spell, his voice slipping into the stilted patterns required to make Fire Evocation work. It rebounded off the high vaulted ceiling of the Traitor's Cathedral, it's once lustrous, now stained marble walls veritably reverberating.

"What does it look like we're doing, Dav?" shouted Einkloss the Weary, a grizzled veteran of many wars. Swearing in frustration he tried once more to pierce the seemingly impenetrable armor of his foe, a viscious Terror Wight and minion of the Shade of Murkos, one of the Black Archbishop's cursed lapdogs. As he struck though, the fiend's thick armor turned aside his blade!

Davakos didn't respond, wrapped as he was in the complex interactions needed for his magic to work at maximum efficiency. Einkloss shouldered a heavy blow from the Terror Wight's death blade, his armor barely holding up. Even so, the nearness of the evil blade was sufficient to begin draining his life energy. A cold black nothingness poured over him and the horrid creature laughed in his face.

To his left and right his allies fought valiantly, occupying the lesser minions populating this room of the accursed cathedral so that they didn't move beyond and begin killing his other allies. Avanadra and Ysrael, the healers, wouldn't last long if the gnashing teeth and sharped bone claws of the undead swarm moved beyond the line! Speaking of those healers… "Come on you two, I could really use some help!" he shouted into the fray.

He could hear a bit of mumbling between them over the chaos of the battle. Dammit! Had they forgot they were supposed to keep him up? It was basic tactics! If the main tank goes down the whole party suffers! Almost immediately, however, the warm glow of healing magic suffused him, rebuffing the draining energies of the Terror Wight. Einkloss struck back hard at the monstrous creature, one of his blows landing home.

To Einkloss' left and right, the other stalwarts of the Knights of Tenvierre were doing their best, but none of them had his veteran experience leading a raiding party like this. Korath in particular was flagging… Dammit! "The Unstoppable" indeed! The mighty warrior was much more oriented on outright killing his foes than distracting and detaining them, as was Enkloss' job. Tonight though, Korath seemed off his game. Sure he'd slain at least seven of the swarm, but his usual numbers were significantly higher.

The wight's dreaded blade slipped past Einkloss' guard twice, leaving dents in his armor and causing serious injury! He snarled in outrage. "Dav! Hurry!" he yelled, and summoned the power of his faith to injure the foul creature. A pulse of light washed forth from his shield, washing over all the enemies in the immediate vicinity, doing minor amounts of damage but angering them all… except for the three Korath was with! Dammit! Dammit all to hell!

It was too late, Korath was supposed to keep his designated targets in range so that when Einkloss used his magic all the enemies would focus on him! The blasts of healing energy that washed over him right then, for all the good they did, immediately doomed both Ysrael and Avandra. Korath's undead snapped their heads around, orienting on the healers and immediately bounded away from the mighty warriors' bloody weapons.

Davakos finished his massive spell, hammering down a column of soul-crushing flame tinged with the light from a holy Dawn Crystal trinket. Einkloss, equipped with the matching crystal, was spared the vast majority of the flame's all consuming wrath. The fire chewed away at the swarm and their wight commander, all the while the healers' magics holding his death at bay as he prayed for all he was worth, blasting the area repeatedly with holy vengeance and keeping them all on him as Dav's fire ate them alive.

At least that's how it was supposed to work. It started out just fine, but as the three swarmers made it to the healers, their concentration was shot. Avandra, clothed in only the holy raiment of a Druid of the Silver Forest, was no match for the bloody creatures that eviscerated her in seconds. A moment later Ysrael literally lost his head, and screamed in frustration before is voice was cut off due to the decapitation.

Without their healing magic to sustain him, the fire immediately began to bite Einkloss, and in moments he was dying with the rest of the monsters. The three creatures jumped on Davakos next, while Korath stood mutely in his fighting position. That was it...

"Reset, everyone!" Dre said into the microphone on his headset, staring in disgust at the computer screen. "It's a wipe, let them finish us so the healers can rez up and have us back at it. We didn't get the wight in time anyway, this whole zone will reset in 10 minutes."

Groans of disappointment and curses of frustration answered him as thirteen of the other members took their lumps. Immediately three private messages popped up on his screen, all blaming Kevin for dropping the ball and getting the party killed. "Way of the Dragon Warrior" could be tough as hell on the multiplayer parts, easily the most complex raiding formulas he'd ever run up against, and he'd been playing MMO games since he was seven, and leading parties into battle since he was ten.

He sighed, they were right of course, and thus the party/principality leader's job was never done. He fired off quick replies to ensure them that favoritism wasn't going to inform on whatever punishment he felt was just for the rogue player.

He switched his channel over to a private one he always kept open for his buddy and the web-cam immediately popped up, showing Kevin Blake bent over his table, scribbling furiously on a pad of paper.

"Kevin, what the hell, bro?" Dre began, but didn't get any response whatsoever. "Kevin, hey bro! Can you hear me?" he tried again, but like before got no response.

"Kevin!" he shouted, and the other boy jumped.

"Huh? What?" he looked around, then finally noticed the light on the web-cam and looked at the right screen. Slowly, a look of horror dawned on Kevin's face. "Oh shit, the raid! Oh no… what happened?"

"About to ask you the same, Kev. You just sorta zoned out and stopped fighting all that well. It's not like the wight's even a big boss, Kev, we've downed this jerk-off at least five times!"

Kevin blinked at the pickup and looked a little lost. "Sorry, Dre, I dunno what happened. I just all of a sudden started seeing it!"

"Seeing what?" Dre asked, confused. Sure the graphics were killer, and Kevin's rig could handle anything in the computing world.

"The math, Dre. I was looking at the screen and all the program math started making sense! I could predict every sword hit before it fell, man! Every single hit or miss! It was like I was channeling something, dude!" To Dre's eyes, Kevin looked to be disturbed and unsure.

Dre looked at his friend on the web-cam. What the hell? Was he busy cracking code while they were raiding? Seriously bad form… though of course, if Kevin could isolate that code it would give them an edge in future fights!

The healers were back now and starting to resurrect party members. Dre cautioned Kevin one last time to keep focused on the game and soon, and the pair turned their mics back over to the common frequencies so they could engage the rest of the party.

It was time for the Knights to try once more and fight their way to the crazed Archbishop! Justice, treasure, and experience points awaited!

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** So I have a host of reasons why I haven't posted in forever, but none of them hold much water. More or less you can say I was regrouping (thanks QuasiOuster for the definition of that ;-)) There's enough going on that I can't just vomit up stream-of-consciousness babble and string it together into a story when I finally realize what's going on. My God! I have to plot? Heavens!_

_Kudos to you if you caught my Dresden Files reference. Also if you play any MMO you will probably recognize some of Kevin and Dre's game._

_I've made some changes in response to Syndew's spot-on review (thank you for that, by the way) and I hope to more accurately capture Jo's voice. I've tightened a few things up here and there as well.  
_

_Please R&R, all comments and criticisms are welcome._


	9. A New Purpose

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**  
A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

8. A NEW PURPOSE

_Exact day unknown_  
_Somewhere in the Federal Republic of Germany_

It took a significant amount of willpower for Grant to keep from diving into a blathering array of questions once the nameless escort had seen him and Beverly Barlowe to the waiting vehicle. Another Mercedes, this one a slightly older model, modified in similar fashion to "detective" Bach's. It was a morosely common dark gray, appearing somehow both commonplace and boring, and therefore meriting little attention on its own.

The interior was decorated to a higher standard than the exterior, however. The leg room was spacious, to say the least, and instead of being fit for three adults in the back seat, the center console had been removed in favor of what looked to be a wine chiller. He was placed on the left side of the car, partly in the escort's peripheral vision. The location would allow Barlowe and her escort to react with maximum efficiency if Grant turned out to have plans other than "cooperate fully".

Both his rescuers remained silent as the escort started the car and drove them away from the secret prison. Grant afforded himself a time of silence to adapt to the new situation. He hadn't seen sunlight in far too long. Granted it certainly wasn't the longest incarceration in history, but the complete lack of any natural world rhythms is disturbing to humans on a very deep psychological level. He felt like laughing morbidly, reflecting that it was one thing to know this intellectually, and quite another to experience it firsthand.

The drive took them through the countryside, but he wasn't even sure which part of the country they were in. The time of his initial travel could put him anywhere within the country's borders. The area around them was rural, to be sure. It had the feel of old leftovers that had never really been reclaimed after the Second World War, either due to bad memories or perhaps even something as superstitious as "old ghosts". As one such old ghost himself, and after this experience, he was somewhat less ready than before to immediately dismiss such claims.

The afternoon sun broke through the clouds at one point, bathing him in its radiance and suffusing him with its glow. An image occurred to him as he basked, and for just a moment compared himself to one of his favorite fantasy heroes. He'd secretly been a fan of some of the more fantastical stories that were being written back in the day, namely of the Superman. It had been a private treat of his own to see what the people of the future had done with that little bit of fantasy, and he'd found the growth and changes of the character perhaps a fair reflection of the culture at large, or at least how the American people at a popular level saw themselves throughout the decades. If ever there was a superhero that more epitomized the character of American spirit, he felt, it had to be that one.

"I'm glad to see you enjoying yourself, Trevor." Beverly's voice was soft and sultry. He sighed inwardly because he'd known that his private reflection wouldn't be allowed to drag on forever. Two parts of him reacted to her voice on entirely different levels. The first was, inevitably, his libido. The way she talked, moved, presented herself; all of it was keyed on unbalancing the male psyche and using sex as a weapon. It was obvious she wasn't a young woman anymore, but that simply was part of the appeal. What did they call it these days, a cougar? Or was that only when she was preying on younger men? In his rational mind, the other part of him that responded, she was a black widow. What was most relevant at this point was whether he was the mate, or the predator.

"Always, Ms. Raines, always," He replied, a smirk firmly in place. Whatever her game was, it wouldn't do for her to see if he was rattled or not. At the same time, the game had changed. The playing pieces were different now and therefore the stakes and the board had changed as well. Who were the players now? He turned and looked at her, taking in the image. If he'd learned anything in his short acquaintance with her, it was that the surface was never the truth.

Beverly Barlowe looked as intriguing as ever. Being the daughter of his ally Adam Barlowe, she had to be probably 45 or 50 years old, but if he was at his most critical she didn't look over her early thirties. Her wavy brunette hair, always with hints of a scarlet that teased at his particular weaknesses, was lush and luxurious, piled over one shoulder. Her intelligent and perceptive chocolate eyes were returning the favor, slowly dancing up and down, and he felt a mild flush at that. She challenged his senses in ways that he was still getting used to. While he'd certainly been attracted to and amazed by Allison Blake, he had to admit that this woman excited him in ways he wasn't remotely prepared for. Even the way she was sitting was part of it. She turned riding passenger in a car into what could be an act of seduction, and yet she could easily deny that if she wished, declaring him far too forward.

The rural landscape continued to pass and she chuckled quietly, taking a long look out the window, one arm rested on the ledge by the window, the knuckle of that hand pressed to her lips. In profile she was easily as seductive as if she were directly coming on to him.

"Yes, Trevor," she said with amusement, "Raines is an alias. Mister Larsen is with me and aware of my allegiances."

He laughed aloud at that, his cynicism evident. "That would be quite the achievement, Ms. Barlowe. Are _you_ even aware of your allegiances?"

"Now, Trevor," she admonished him, "Is that any way to talk to the people that just rescued you from rendition?" her own sarcastic smirk in place.

"Rendition?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's a practice of the allied governments in these later years, where a suspect they feel is especially important, such as one accused of terrorism, is detained secretly, and usually denied due process. It's not supposed to happen to citizens of said nations, but..." she trailed off, smirking a little.

He thought for a moment to be outraged at this, but never mustered the fire. He looked out his window and murmured quietly, "It's not like my own past is free of this hypocrisy. I approved of internment after all." He was quiet for a while and then turned his regard back to her. "So did your father."

Grant wasn't sure if it was to her credit or detriment, but she didn't flinch or react to that last in any appreciable fashion.

"Regardless, it's due to our work that you're out of there. I would have figured you to be more grateful," she mused.

"Don't mistake my meanings, Beverly. I am very grateful that you and Mister Larsen there saw fit to drag me free from that hellhole, but I trust you'll count me a touch leery, considering how our last meeting turned out." A seed of bitterness and guilt grew within him, and in a considerably hotter tone he said, "And considering what you were willing to conscience then, I don't think I was freed because you have any great care about social injustices."

She laughed at him, merrily. "Oh, Trevor! How eager we are to assign our faults to others. I seem to recall you agreeing enthusiastically to the promise of godlike power." She was obviously enjoying this. Had probably been preparing for it for weeks. "I've worked far harder in years past to get moles into Global Dynamics, and believe me there's nothing easier to work with than a collaborator."

Grant huffed out a breath in anger and disgust. He _had_ sold this future down the river quite readily; hadn't even patted it on the ass to wish it a fond farewell. Jack Carter had changed all that, especially when Grant learned what the choice to brave the wormhole had wrought...

"I'll not so casually work against those people again, Ms. Barlowe. Judas Iscariot I very well may be, but I'll not take my thirty pieces of silver _twice!_" he declared. Part of him did, at any rate. Another part of him lusted after that promise of months past, that chance to set the record straight and affect the change he wanted to. Those he'd hitched a ride to the future with had not only tried to make him largely welcome, but also forgave him his sins after the revelation of his misdeed. Though, in truth, he'd never admitted to anyone just exactly _why_ he'd returned to the past.

"What do you want?" he asked. His tone was quiet, reserved.

"Why should I want anything?" she answered.

"Please, don't insult my intelligence!" He turned toward her in his seat. She was looking at him with a sultry gaze, her eyes smoldering at him from beneath lowered lashes. She projected the air of a satisfied predator, a cat stalking a mouse.

"Alright," she said. She paused for a time; the car continued its drive. Larsen remained as silent as ever. They were moving into more urbanized areas now, signs of habitation growing ever more frequent. At length she said, "There is something that I want, and I think you'll want it too."

He waited for her to continue, but she stopped talking and gazed once more out the window. At length she continued. "What was in your mind when you and my father set about on your mission?"

He thought about that for a second. It wasn't an unexpected question from her. Doubtless she'd been raised on a steady diet of her father's idealism, and Adam had been nothing if not idealistic. There was no telling what further changes he and Carter had made on their last trip through the wormhole, and certainly Grant had managed to better himself out of the deal. Was Beverly herself a different person than he'd met before stepping through that wormhole?

"What I wanted," he began, "was to better the world. You've lived with the results of the world I helped make, and I wonder if it was the right world or the right choices now. Things seem different only superficially. I now know that trying to undo the past is a… imperfect solution. But how can anyone know the answer to that?" He heaved a sigh and looked at the chiller between them, then gestured at it and opened it at her nod. Within was a bottle of the same wine she'd used to attract his attention several months past, a 1947 vintage again.

He skillfully cracked open the bottle and calmly poured a glass for each of them. He clinked rims with her and took a savoring sip of the crisp, dry wine. Perfect. The flavors danced across his palette, igniting a host of memories. Better and worse times, old friends now long gone, hopes and dreams that seemed so bright and pure once.

"What if," Beverly began, intruding on his reflection, "there was a way to achieve that?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry; the wormhole device won't work again. Even if you could get the math aligned correctly there are too many signatures in the same space-time. I'd run into myself far too easily, and that intersection of space-time has to be getting weak. Any more intrusions-"

She laughed. It was a bright tinkling thing that nonetheless conveyed derision and amusement both. "I'm not talking about rebuilding the bridge device, Trevor."

"Then what?" he countered. "Some other method of time travel?"

"No." Her smile was so confident it was beginning to piss him off.

"Enough riddles, God dammit, woman! Out with it!" He took a less contemplative pull from his drink, instantly regretting it. This vintage was to be savored, not quaffed indiscriminately!

"Did your old mentor ever explain to you why Camp Eureka was located where it was in the first place?" she asked.

That was an odd question, to say the least. "Dr. Einstein? When we asked it was fairly obvious. The place was secluded. Oregon wasn't as settled back then, none of the west coast states except California really were. With as much press as the desert AFBs were getting, we assumed it was to keep the whole of the place secret and safe."

"Have you ever heard of a project codenamed Apollo?" she asked.

"Sure" he answered, "It was one of the early nuclear reaction methods were looking at. I never worked on the damn thing, refused to actually. Nuclear weapons were the last thing I wanted to be involved with!"

"It wasn't a nuclear weapon, Trevor." She paused as he blinked at her, words struggling to find their way out of his throat. "It was the first stage of manifestation of a terrestrial artifact of immense power."

He stared at her, mutely considering her statement. She continued. "The artifact, as near as anyone has been able to determine, has direct ties to the Akashic Field. It has been theorized to be the last remnant of the universe that existed before the creation singularity."

"You mean the Big Bang," he said flatly. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that whole theory, especially regarding some of the recent models he'd been studying, though Doctor Einstein was quite behind it. "Look, Beverly, I don't need fairy tales. I am a man of science and I deal in hard fact, not superstition. Your so-called-"

"It's real, Trevor." she said, breaking in. "Trust me, we know. My father found out the initial parts of it before his accusation and arrest. We've been pursuing it ever since, and it's always been at the heart of these projects."

He took another sip from his wine glass, draining it. He took a refill and offered the same to her. She accepted. He mulled over his thoughts with yet another sip of the wine; a truly excellent vintage.

"We came extremely close to accessing it a few years back, but an overzealous action on the part of Global's director at the time caused the item to physically discorporate." She stopped, a quick glance at her face showed her to be staring in contemplation at the wine glass in her hand. Personal memories perhaps? Recriminations?

"After that we are at a loss to explain what happened to it, it's connection to the field, everything. Somehow it tried to latch on to one of the town's residents, and it nearly killed him. What I didn't know then is precisely how its connection functioned, or why that person was the recipient, but he-"

"Oh please, don't dance around particulars now!" he snapped. As interesting as this show and tell was… well…

"Kevin Blake," she said simply, then sipped at her wine again.

"Allison's son?"

"Yes."

"What did you people do to him?" he demanded, anger surging into his voice. He'd come to admire the kid as his months in Eureka had passed, and the thought of these people...

"Again with the self-righteous indignation!" she exclaimed, sounding exasperated. "Please, Trevor. As if your morals were pure as the driven snow! We both know what your research record looks like. Spare me! We're both adults here."

She continued in a calmer voice. "I'm not sure of everything that happened to Kevin. The beginnings of his involvement with the consortium precede my activation, and they are in the direct purview of another senior agent. We don't lightly share information with one another, the cell structure makes it easier to avoid turning over keystones of the organization under interrogation. Not that it makes the interrogators any less… tractable. I too have my own experiences with rendition, Trevor."

"But regardless, whatever it was, I was not permitted to know the full interference with Kevin Blake, but I seized on the oddity when my own project was taking a nosedive."

"You're getting to a point here, soon, right?" Grant interjected.

"Very well," She almost pouted, and Grant couldn't decide if it was a fake or not. "It has come to my attention that the artifact is preparing for another manifestation, only this time we in the consortium plan to be ready to receive it. Or, at least one branch of us is doing so. Not put too fine a point on the issue, but I simply do not trust that the consortium has its collective head in the game on this run. They've brought in someone you might refer to as an old adversary, and I have solid enough intelligence to suggest that the field agent in charge plans to do more than secure the object. I suggest that he plans to use it."

"Isn't that what you are planning to do?" asked Grant.

Beverly met his eyes, squarely. "Not hardly; it's too dangerous, too much power for any one man or person to control. If used incorrectly… Look, Trevor. If the controller were able to interface with the field directly, it is theoretically possible that he would be able to create the psychic equivalent of a nuclear bomb."

"You can't be-" he began.

"I'm dead serious! The last time it discorporated a host of people who were affected burst into spontaneous combustion induced by their own minds! A conscious will behind that could unleash the same effect, with perfect accuracy, on any single person or group of people he or she wished!" She fell silent after the tirade, sipped her wine once more, and looked out the window. By this time the rural countryside had given away to the beginnings of the urban sprawl. He hadn't been looking at road signs; he still had no idea where they were.

"What do you want, Beverly," he asked, quietly.

"The man in charge of this next operation has the ear of the Consortium's leading committee. If you think my methods leave a lot to be desired, this man's methods make me look like a saint! They believe in him, most especially the Chairman believes in him. The Consortium has grown self-satisfied and complacent, and it has forgotten what its mission is." He was watching out of the corner of his eye and caught as she nervously glanced at him.

"Are you asking me to try to convince them of something?" he ventured.

"No. I'm asking that you do what you set out to 64 years ago, I'm asking that you step up to the challenge and join me in taking them over."

He stared at her with a cool demeanor. Part of him had been wondering if this was her end game. She obviously admired him a great deal; subtle cues about her kept giving it away. Of course it was possible she was feeding him a cleverly constructed lie. She was, after all, the trained spy.

"Why me? Why not put yourself at the throne?" he asked. He longed at that moment for a cigarette, a good crisp pull of Virginia tobacco to calm the nerves and ease the stress.

She leaned in, projecting her earnestness, as well as giving him a distracting eyeful. "Because I am not the person that created this, I'm not the visionary that designed it. Quite simply I am an agent, and a damned good one, but I'm not the leader that you were, or that you are."

He was silent for a time, staring at her, weighing it. It was what he had intended to do once the nuclear weapon had been contained. The whole of it was the child of his mind, the great work of his age… In a moment of clarity he saw himself stepping away from the old ghosts still bemoaning their fates and haunting the monuments of empires past. It was what he was born to do!

He finished the last of his glass, and then poured a third refill for himself and Beverly, emptying the bottle. After putting away the empty bottle he raised his glass in a toast, and their glassed clinked.

"Where do we begin?"

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_**_I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, and I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

**_Author's Notes: _**_Back to Beverly and Grant. More evil mustache twirling. And Debrah Farentino still rocks it ;-)_


	10. Reconciliations

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**  
A "Way of the Gun" Sequel

* * *

9. RECONCILIATIONS

_January 16th, 2011  
__Crater Lake National Park, OR_

The brisk wind rushed by her at insane speeds, and Jo exhilarated in it! She leaned hard to the left and dipped a hand into the snow, helping her direction shift as she plummeted down the the southeast face of Mount Scott, one of the remaining peaks around the caldera that made Crater Lake. The spray of white powder blew around her and she grinned like a madwoman.

This was the best kind of boarding, in her opinion: raw mountain, no lifts, no crowds, just the boarder and the mountain and the wild.

There was a whooping holler behind her and in a flash her companion sliced through the snow below her, around a few rocks and trees, laughing with the same exhilaration that Jo felt. A lilting feminine voice tinged with sarcasm shot back her way. "Come on, hand-dragger! Try and keep up with a real skier!"

Jo grinned again and turned to catch the other person, hunkering down on the board.

Slat rats like Zoe never appreciated that the board was a better tool for this! Not that she expected them to, on the mountains there was the right way, and there was what the other guy was doing. Still, she had some experience on her partner, and put in a few tricks she'd learned from someone else in a past life.

The two continued their adventure down the mountain for quite a while. Adventure mountaineering they called it, get dropped off on the top of the mountain and ski (or as was right and proper, board) your way down. They were probably cheating a little, but for the love of God, living in Eureka had some bonuses. In this instance the GPS enabled heads-up displays in their snow goggles and the Petro-Tech thermals each of them was wearing. Zoe had wanted to bet that the pilot and facilitator for the gig would not be able to stop staring at them, considering how the super-advanced ski-suits clung to their figures.

The downhill journey eventually ended, and the two adventure mountaineers drifted to a stop in their camp. The logistics of arranging everything had been something of a minor nightmare, but Zoe had insisted she'd handle it all, and Jo had to admit that even though Chief of Security pulled its own weight, Daughter of the Sheriff and Favored Pupil of the Director of Medical Research had a unique gravity all to themselves, especially the ability to sweet talk Fargo into letting them have the 2nd BUFFY prototype!

"Good moves, hand dragger." Zoe said as she was pulling off her skis at the camp site.

Jo laughed, and relished in it. "Not so bad yourself, pole monkey."

"Watch it, these poles have reach!" Zoe threatened sarcastically, flipping her hair about after freeing it from the cap. "Damn, I think I'm sweaty! This stuff is great for the cold but I think it could do a little better at breathing."

Jo grinned wickedly. "You know the rules of the bet! I won, so I get first crack at the shower!"

Zoe sighed dreamily. "Fine, just don't use up all the hot water! This has to be the coolest way to go camping since mankind invented hotels!"

Jo could think of some disagreements to that, reflecting to a shared camping spot with a certain Zane Donovan and a special spot she'd introduced him to overlooking Lake Archimedes, but she did have to admit that the prospect of a hot shower after a long exercise like that was delicious to consider. She could imagine it being just a little better if said bad-boy mad scientist were going to share it with her, but it wasn't kosher quite yet to go dreamy eyed over Zane in front of Zoe.

In fact that had been part of this whole gig, ostensibly; some girl time alone, away from the pressures of town, of Jo's job, of Zoe's internship, and the tension that still seemed to hang around slightly whenever Zoe, Zane, and Jo were all in the same space. Jo considered these things while she luxuriated in the hot water of the portable shower unit. Amazing technology, this was. It fully recycled all the water it used, purified it, and left the leavings in an easily containable filter/waste cartridge. She was glad it was still a "field test" unit, the projected price of the device was a bit crazy to consider, but it was still brilliant.

Of course she'd still had Andy do a complete forensic scan of it and the tent to make sure no spying eyes were here. She wasn't about to risk embarrassment for her or Zoe in case one of the pervs wanted footage of either of the ladies showering. Jerks were probably imagining catching the two of them showering together!

Jo lost herself in the sensations for a while, enjoying the hot water. Zoe had mostly been joking about that being limited, when the single coolest feature of the shower was an in-line water heater. They only had to worry about battery power, and the solar cells had been working all day while they were on the mountain.

She finished, dried off in the insulated tent and dressed, then traded duties with Zoe, picking up with the cooking for the evening meal. Supposedly BUFFY had an integrated food unit, but the geniuses in charge of that had bombed a bit. It only rendered a generic "food paste" that looked and smelled just off. Still, camping in Jo's mind wasn't done right unless you cooked the food yourself. To that end, tonight's menu consisted of a hearty beef and potatoes stew with dumplings cooking on top. It would've been better in a cast-iron pot, but they'd had enough crap to drag into the site.

She steeped a cup of peppermint tea, using the hot water from the pot sitting next to the fire; Alone with her thoughts and no other distractions. The phones were both set to ignore anything but a 911 call for Jo, and direct calls from Zoe's dad. The camp site was a true marvel, with a view to the south of the wild countryside of the national park. It was a shame they didn't have a great panoramic of Crater Lake itself, but that had been too short a descent, and neither of them had wanted to hike back up to the camp. They were going to have to hike back up to the Rim Road anyway tomorrow.

Zoe finished and rejoined Jo and the two engaged in small talk, simply enjoying each others' company.

"So" Zoe began, finally daring to broach the subject, "How are you and Zane doing?"

Zane had broken things off with Zoe almost eight months ago, but Zoe had retreated back to college almost immediately after, and the two women had never directly reconciled with each other. Jo sipped at her tea and smiled ruefully. Things with Zane were interesting to say the least.

"Zoe," she said, "I don't know how to get around saying it, so I figure I'll just say it. I'm sorry if you're mad at me, or hold anything against me about him, but I do love him."

The girl-"No, Jo, she's a woman" she reprimanded herself-nodded slowly and took a drink from her hot chocolate with its four mid-sized marshmallows.

"I was always wondering that, at least a little, but so much time went by that I just figured whatever might have started between you two never did, so I thought it was a safe bet." Zoe said.

"Honey, nothing about that man is safe!" Jo snorted out.

"Well, yeah, that's kind of the appeal, isn't it?" Zoe snickered, "The bad boy who's really got a soft side?"

Jo shook her head and looked out at the view. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable, it just was. It's a rare thing to have that, the ability to just be around someone and not need to fill the air with conversation. "Yeah," she finally admitted, "It is. He's something else."

"Oh I bet the sex doesn't hurt issues either!" Zoe said with a conspiratorial grin.

"Zoe!" Jo blurted out in shock, looking at her. She felt her cheeks coloring in embarrassment.

"Oh come on, Jo! I'm nineteen! I know you two are getting it on; spill." Zoe reinforced her demands by smiling sweetly at Jo, as if butter couldn't melt in her mouth.

"Your Dad-"

"My dad is getting it on too! Everyone I know who's of age is getting busy and the only thing I've got going on is battery powered!" Zoe protested.

"Oh my God!" Jo half-laughed. She knew the blush was showing now.

"Oh please, Jo!" Zoe exclaimed in disgust, "I never got with Lucas before he left and… crap! As hot as some of the guys at Harvard are every time I think about it I keep hearing my Dad shouting 'Three Feet'!"

"You're serious?" asked Jo, incredulously.

Zoe snorted, "Quiet, you! It's not like I'm joining a nunnery, but sometimes I swear living at that bunker is like having a nanny! I'm half convinced SARAH is sending weekly reports to my Dad. Besides, it's not like we have a whole ton of eligible bachelors in Eureka!"

Jo shook her head. After a bit more needling she finally relented and admitted that yes, indeed, Zane knew what he was doing and was quite the lover. Zoe sighed wistfully a few times, and by the end of the note comparing Jo was finally convinced that the two of them were beyond the issue of a love triangle. It felt good; she had to admit to herself, that she could comfortably rely on Zoe's friendship again.

Dinner was ready shortly after that, and they both ate with gusto. No food is so good as that which is prepared on the trail, and the view of the south mountains made for a far better spot of watching than any television channel or movie.

As they were dousing the fire and preparing to turn in for the evening, their quiet camaraderie was disturbed by the sound of a helicopter's traversal of the mountain ranges. While they had certainly heard the adventure mountaineering company's birds a few times that day, going to different areas, this one sounded different.

Jo picked up her snow goggles as she located the source of the sound, the action perking up Zoe's interest as she finished dousing the fire. "Something up, Jo?"

"Yeah, that chopper doesn't sound quite right." Jo replied absently, putting the goggles on and tapping the controls on the right side to turn on the full suite of electronics.

"What do you mean by 'not right?'" Zoe asked.

Jo demurred. It was hard to explain to a civvie the way your head got after you rode the damn things day in and out for years. All her time in the Rangers, shuffling in and out of places she didn't want to think about, most of that had been traversed in the back of a helo. The noise this bird was making wasn't any old civilian job, and it certainly wasn't the ancient Sikorsky that they'd hired for the ride that morning. That thought prompted an idle consideration that maybe she should fix Zoe up with the pilot, who'd seemed really interested in her, but it meandered away as she scanned the sky. She listened to the sound profile and tried to pin it down, ruling out class by class as she listened.

She finally found the chopper and tapped the keys to make the goggles do a digital zoom and refine on the image. She got a good look at it and harrumphed to herself. Okay, the model was off, it was still a Sikorsky, but you didn't see many CH-54 Sky Cranes operating in the national park, let alone ones that weren't in military colors, especially when they were lifting difficult-to-identify pre-fab units. The big stork-like chopper lumbered away in the distance.

Try as she might, she couldn't piece together quite what was happening, so she snapped a few images into the goggles database and vowed to check it out later.

Zoe sighed. "Earth to Jo, what's up?"

Jo shook her head as she replied. "Nothing that I can tell anyhow; you just don't see Sky Cranes operating out here much, especially not this late. That dude better have some nice NVGs for landing."

"NVGs?" asked Zoe.

Jo replied without missing a beat, "Night vision goggles. Unless he's landing in a really lighted area that's got to be a nasty haul this late in the day."

"Well, they're headed away from Eureka, so unless they stole something I don't think it concerns us much," Zoe pronounced, satisfied with her own logic.

"Yeah, maybe." Jo said absently, her mind still trying to puzzle it out.

Zoe shook her head. "Forget 'em Jo. I'm hitting the sack. It's a long ski tomorrow to cross-country back to the road. And besides, the next two nights are at the lodge!"

Jo nodded absently, not quite in full agreement, but not wanting to argue either. They turned down the rest of the camp site and went into the GD wonder tent to enjoy Fargo's luxurious idea of "roughing it".

* * *

_January 15th, 2011_  
_Eureka, OR_

"I should have done this a long time ago," Jack thought as he pulled in to the driveway at Allison's- at _their_ house. Since her car was here she was too. He knew Kevin was out tonight, hanging with his friends Dre and Connor.

He was tired already, but simply thankful that Allison had been able to stay at home for tonight's fiasco… Honestly, how those guys at GD came up with all their crap he had no idea. At least they wouldn't be facing an insane killer robot invasion any time soon. He was just glad at this point that the budget to reskin and repair his robot deputy weren't part of his department. He wasn't really looking forward to the next day or so it would take the robotics labs to repair Andy, but then again he wasn't really relishing this next encounter.

Relationships were always messier than law enforcement.

The rich smell of some excellent food being cooked lifted his spirits somewhat as he entered. After the fight on the anniversary of her first wedding, tension had been thick between them. He thought once again about the fight and the causes for it; his fault entirely.

His family, absent the strict authoritarianism of his father, had taken a decidedly Bohemian bent. Jack had always patterned himself after his dad, though. It was one of the reasons he and Lexi used to fight so much. But he'd also had a firm model of a working family growing up. His parents had stayed married throughout the ups and downs, had toughed it out and gave him a set of expectations about how it should all be. It'd never been a question in his mind that, once he and Allie were together, marriage would follow, eventually.

Conversation at home had been strained to say the least, so when he noticed her tension as he entered the kitchen after hanging his gun belt on the back of a dining room chair; he tried very hard to appear unaffected by it.

He took a brief moment to appreciate her, to remind himself once more how lucky he was, and how much he didn't deserve her. Allie stood at the kitchen range, fixing something relatively simple in response to his called ahead report that the insanity for the evening was over. Somehow she always looked fantastic. Her rich, dark hair fell down her back in waves, when she would turn just so and they would frame her lovely face. Dressed in a simple blouse and jeans bit, she still managed to cut a killer profile.

He sighed, quietly. She always took good care of herself, but it was more than that. He'd been so right during their first dance; intelligent, perceptive, strong, independent, beautiful. She was every one of those and more; A driven person, perhaps a little too 'type-A', but also a fantastic mother, a superb friend, and a good person.

She noted that he hadn't moved toward her yet, and cast a curious eye his direction, though he sensed that she was nervous and unsure. Her body language said it all. At times he bemoaned being an investigator, but there were times when it came in handy, if he chose to listen to his instincts and not his ego.

She obviously had resolved to leave the ball in his court, as he thought she might. He left his kit hanging from the back of the chair and moved into the kitchen, stepping up behind her. She stiffened a little, but didn't fend him off as he settled his hands on her shapely hips and sidled up behind her, pressing into her and resting his face in her hair and inhaling her scent. She relaxed into him a little, though a bit of the tension remained.

"I'm sorry," he said. It was simple and quiet, but was an earnest as he could make it. She didn't say anything really, but some of the tension left. "Really, Allison, I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Jack, I-" she began.

"No, please. Let me finish?" She nodded and turned around so they were face to face, slipping the food off of the induction range top.

He took a breath as he looked into her warm chocolate eyes, her lovely face framed by her long tresses in that way that made his knees weak. She looked uncertain, in some measure, but also earnest as well. There was a guardedness to her, too. He didn't begrudge that. The arguments hadn't been the most pleasant thing either of them had lived through.

"I've been a first rate ass, Allison, and I'm so sorry. I haven't been considerate to you in these last few weeks, and I should know better. I am not making excuses, but I'm pretty sure you've already figured out I was raised a certain way, and I was brought up to expect certain things, and for a while I got confused as to what was really important."

"I'm not confused anymore. I've come to realize that what I thought was most important wasn't, and also to realize that I was letting that get in the way. What's really important, Allie, is you, and that I love you."

He paused for a moment as her breath shuddered, and the tears forming in her eyes spilled over onto her cheeks. He was sure she wanted to say something, but she held off. He reached up gently, cupping the side of her face in his hand and thumbed away one of the tears, trying a reproachful smile. The corners of her mouth turned up and she cast her eyes down.

"I've been a jerk about the marriage thing," he paused for half a second as she tensed, perhaps preparing her defenses in their old argument. "But that's because I was being stupid. I love you and I always will, whether or not you choose to change your name, or put on a ring, or do none of it. I can face whatever this town and this life can throw at me, if only we're together, in whatever way you see fit. However you'll allow it, I just want to be with you."

She closed the distance between them and pressed up against him, her arms clasping him as she sought out his lips in a soft kiss. Her tears stained his face, and her emotion bled over onto him, splintering the last walls of pride in him, and he began to cry too. They clung to each other for a time, just holding onto each other and crying softly.

After a while they pulled back just a bit, and she looked him in the eyes. "Jack…" she began slowly, building up the momentum as she talked."I love you too; I know that like I've never known anything else. You're… I don't have the words to express it. I need you to understand I don't want to get married."

"Allie, honey, I-"

"No, Jack. My turn? Please?" she asked, leaning in for a quick kiss as he nodded.

She paused for a bit, obviously trying to put words to. "Every time I've said those words, and done that, it hasn't turned out well. First there was Don, then when Nathan and I couldn't make it work… and then the second time and… and…" she halted herself, obviously fighting to maintain her composure. "I know it's probably silly, and superstitious, but damn it I don't want to live with that pain again, I don't know if I could!"

He leaned in and kissed her forehead as she lost some composure and a few tears slipped out, murmuring gentle and supportive words as he did so.

She continued, speaking into the crook of his neck. "I love you, Jack Carter! I can't lose you, and I'm so scared that if we ever did that then I would. I know it doesn't make any sense! But I can't escape it, Jack! Every time I think that maybe I could, I freeze!"

He silenced her with another kiss and hugged her back to him. She broke down again. He held her through the duration.

"I'm sorry, Allie" he said again. "I'll be happy with whatever you want, I mean it. What's important is that I love you and I'll be here for you, no matter what."

"So, want some dinner?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Nah." he replied with a smirk.

She knew where he was leading almost immediately. "Oh?" she asked in faux innocence.

"I was thinking about breakfast though..." he trailed off.

She smiled and tugged on his arm, leading them out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes**: This chapter is all about reconciliations. While it was pretty clear that Jo and Zoe were no longer at odds in "Way of the Gun", I never really delved into their relationship. Additionally I figured a little bit of sisterly rivalry would be good. I got the slang terms from some co-workers who are avid rivals as to whether the board or the skis are best for downhill._

_For geographical reference, Mount Scott is on the southeast portion of the remains of Mount Mazama (the volcano that forms Crater Lake). It is thought to have been largely undisturbed when Mazama blew up several thousand years ago. At present it has some of the best free range skiing in that portion of the park (or so I am told)._

_Regarding Jack and Allison, I had thought about letting the argument fester between them for a while but in the end I just couldn't deal with it for the rest of the story, so this became mandatory in light of the challenges forthcoming.  
_

_As usual, please R&R, all comments and criticisms welcome!_


	11. Anticipation

**PROJECT ARCHIMEDES**

* * *

10. ANTICIPATION

_Somewhere in Oregon  
_

Calling the room "the Lab" didn't quite seem to do it justice, but calling it "The Chamber" or "The Focus" or anything else that others had come up with just sounded wrong. Either the descriptions lent an air of megalomania and presumption or utterly failed to properly quantify its purpose. Therefore, "the Lab" stuck.

The room itself was large and stark. It spartan efficiency owing to it's method of construction. Bright lighting units in the ceiling flooded the room with austere white light, illuminating a space some 40' in diameter and height. The room was vaguely hexagonal, with the floor leveled out to reflect the vanity of men who would approach what this room was meant to hold.

The vanity of men.

Loaded words to be sure. A concept that had been debated in one language or another without hard resolution since men could think and record their thoughts. In truth, the observer reflected, the meaning was meaningless. There was no ultimate answer to the question, because any answer reflected the bias of the questioner.

The walls were prefabricated slates of light weight shielded metal, mainly light steel with depleted uranium sheeting. This was backed with large reservoirs of water contained in strong aluminum tubes, laid out in such a way as to create a radiation shield. Were it normal water in the tubes it would have to be almost ten feet of stacked material, but using GD's patented synthetic water in a hyper-compressed state, the water was almost as effective as the depleted uranium, and much easier to manufacture. That would seal the lab against particulate radiation. Additionally, inside each wall unit, buried behind the interior faces, were a series of magnetic coils that, when powered, would help shield against EM radiation.

Cameras and sensors stood mounted all around the room; some seated in wall units, some heavily shielded by carbon shells, others relatively naked. The door itself was a marvel of modern engineering, easily the heaviest component and shipped in on it's own cargo chopper. One younger researcher had compared it to the door securing the Encom building in that TRON movie. The puppy showed his ignorance with that statement. Aimes had fought himself hard to avoid humiliating the kid.

If one were to stop there, that might be enough, but the rest of the compound itself was likewise a marvel. There were virtually no above-ground facilities, and the interior structure was fabricated of an enzymatically bonded concrete bonded to and existing structure that, while it sounded like it came from a science fiction novel, was quite real and years ahead of even Global Dynamics's vaunted "flashcrete". The purpose of the prior facility was lost to the history of official secrets. Construction of some elements had hallmarks of early 20th Century construction, as early at World War I. Other parts of it were clearly constructed during the height of the paranoia during the second war.

As to the central chamber's original purpose, none could tell with any certainty. It was large, it was deep, and there was a purpose built control bunker nearby with indications that once there had been a steel shutter on rollers in place. Regardless, it had all served admirably. Once the tailored nanomachines had been programed and cut loose with new materials the interior structure had been stripped down by one to two inches in every room and refinished in an organic process. It had still required oversight, but one could imagine a day when these ubiquitous observers could literally drop off a standard shipping container full of material and let the machines automatically construct an entire facility with no oversight whatsoever.

Perhaps one could marvel at the power plant for the facility? Two liquid thorium core nuclear reactors running in tandem provided such an excess of energy that they were storing it in a series of advanced capacitor arrays. Every reading they'd ever acquired from the object's prior visitation indicated that the magnetic fields would have to be especially strong on occasion.

If that wasn't enough, the theoretical observer's attention could be called to the advanced version of Global's own EM shield, tuned, tightened, and focused to a tighter yield than anything that antiquated system had yet achieved. It served as a final barrier against all energetic radiation emissions. With this shield in place they should be undetectable to any observer short of the most advanced spy satellites, and besides, those were not supposed to be looking this way for the duration of the project.

All of that was impressive, and it was elevated even higher if the observer appreciated that this whole project had been put together in secret, and maintained its secrecy. Certainly there were older sections of the facility that had been expanded upon and re-purposed. As many resources as were at the hands of the Consortium, they amounted to little if they weren't used wisely.

Doctor Donald Aimes, deceased husband to Doctor Allison Blake, father to Kevin Blake, and an utter lie even to himself, stared in fascination at the centerpiece of the whole show. The one component that would make _everything_ possible.

The great and vaunted Nathan Stark's most debilitating folly sat on a stand in the middle of the lab's safe room, resting on a perch that was the central focus of the room's security suite: The original sample fragment from the Artifact!

Delivered by his own hand into the grasping fingers of Beverly Barlowe, without Stark's memory of having done so, the last remains of the universe before the Singularity event, an alternate reality made whole…

The possibilities that laid before them were endless. If this worked according to plan, then the already coalescing energetic anomalies that they'd begun picking up months ago would concentrate on the last physical remnant of the original item. There were backups, of course...

Aimes turned toward his second in command, a middle-aged woman of austere bearing and little humor who called herself Melissa McCabe. Though she appeared quite sour to be saddled with this project, he knew secretly that she was thrilled. She had hoped to lead when her well handler Mr. Mayimbe had tasked her with the assignment, and had been disappointed to find herself playing second fiddle to a scientist that she knew nothing about, but when you became a member of the Consortium the benefits outweighed the small hassles and perceived sleights.

That she had never once met Walker Mayimbe face to face mattered little, and made it all the easier for Aimes to assume his old identity once more. His cadence and tone and his entire body language were entirely different as Donald Aimes made connecting the two an even more difficult task.

"Well, Dr. McCabe?" Doctor Aimes asked of his lieutenant.

She nodded briskly, saying, "Final checks on the reactors are good. Everything is in place and the catastrophic failure units are fixed as well. If we have any overload resulting in meltdown the cores will drain into their neutralizing baths."

Aimes nodded. The new reactors were a variation on the LFTR idea, and were supremely useful. They also created an intense amount of heat and needed to be isolated from the facility at large. He'd worked with such before, far superior in his mind to the solid core uranium reactors favored by nearly everyone on the planet.

"Personnel?"

"As before, Doctor Aimes. We're all on board for now, but I hope we start seeing some results soon," Her voice was passionless.

"Oh?"

"We've been at this for a while, and the entertainment options are scarce. Also-" It was an old argument and Aimes had no remaining stomach for it.

"Melissa, we've been over this. It's a volunteer job! If anyone wants to abandon this they're free to go, as always." Years of experience kept him from betraying anything as he failed to add that they would be sans any memory of the project. He continued, saying tersely, "I will only work with committed people who aren't afraid of a little sacrifice!" Though he never raised his voice or expressed outright anger, it was plain to see, and McCabe pulled back. He cautioned himself that Doctor Aimes was intense yes, but he did not have Mayimbe's terrifying surety. _Restrain yourself, Donald_, He thought.

She sighed and dropped her head. "I know, Doctor Aimes. But the fact remains that we are getting anxious for results and a chance to study this thing."

He nodded. "Yes, I know. I am too. We should not have much longer to wait, though. Readings indicate that we should have enough charge built up to send out an energetic pulse and attract it by force if we have to."

She smiled grimly.

They both wanted this, badly. Few who had gotten whisper of what Global Dynamics had been guarding jealously for the last 65 years could think of nothing else than the chance to study this ultimate puzzle.

_Ah Nathan_, Aimes thought to himself, _You could have achieved so much more with us! But no. You had to have it your way! In the end it looks like it won't be you to unravel the Artifact's mystery after all._

Soon. Soon it would be his turn. The man pretending to be Donald Aimes returned his second's predatory grin.

The chance was worth _anything!_

* * *

_Late January 2011_  
_Eureka, OR_

For still being officially winter, it was a rather warm day. The sky was mostly clear, it hadn't rained for a few days, and the fields were dry. Baseball tryouts were in a few weeks, and Kevin was considering joining them this year, but he was still debating that.

For the most part sports usually didn't excite him, and it wasn't really like Tesla had the greatest sports teams in their division, but Jack seemed so obsessed with it, and the times that Kevin had agreed to play ball with him and a few other dinosaurs around Eureka he'd really enjoyed it. It was even cool that they didn't want to use virtual reality gear for it.

Right now, though, he had other priorities occupying his thoughts.

Sitting in the bleachers at one of the two baseball diamonds in the middle of Eureka's central park with a pad of paper and a pencil, he observed all the collection of friends and other sports types warming up for some practice baseball.

Everyone on the field right now was going to tryout for the school baseball team, and this was something akin to an unofficial tryout, but for the most part it was an excuse for a bunch of folks that loved baseball to play around while the weather was remotely nice. In the Pacific Northwest you took those opportunities for all they were worth.

Kevin sat alone, absent from the sides of his friends Connor and Dre for once, and for the most part because he was absolutely certain that Dre, at the very least, would rib him mercilessly if he saw where Kevin was focusing his attention.

Looking at the field, Kevin couldn't be bothered to remember why he was supposed to be here, he had eyes for only one thing.

At present she was standing at the batter's station at home plate, whatever they called it. Her name was Anika Cole, and she was a year ahead of Kevin in school, fifteen, and really pretty. Her family was from the pacific islands and her heritage was mixed pan-asian with some darker coloring from her father's side of the family, and this long black waterfall of hair that she kept in a ponytail most of the time. Kevin knew that her eyes were a rich dark brown that sparkled with hints of amber when the light caught them just so, but most especially when she laughed.

While he didn't like reflecting on the experience of that last disastrous camping trip with Jack, Fargo and Doctor "I-Wanna-Bang-Yer-Mom", he thought what a really good idea it might be to get another "Emo" project and use it like Jo Lupo had accused him of using it… if he could get away with it!

He entertained the notion for a few seconds and then dismissed it. It would be a really creepy thing to do; something one of the mouth-breather meatheads might try, and he was above that.

Still, it was kinda hard to focus on his paper while she was lining up for the pitch. She missed the first pitch, just barely. She looked upset with it, but set her features in determination. He didn't analyze too much why he liked it when she looked like that, but he knew that when she really buckled down she got results.

Apparently the pitcher knew it too, he threw her a trick ball that slid low at the last second and she committed to a hard swing.

In his mind just then, Kevin fully intended to call out some sort of support, but the will to do so never materialized. Instead he stared raptly at the catcher's glove and retraced the ball's trajectory in his mind's eye. As he thought about it, specifically the point at which the ball apparently began to dip, he realized that the trajectory had suggested this course throughout the entire length of the pitch.

This led to wondering what kind of spin had been on the ball as it left the pitcher's hand. Kevin reflexively though back to that and tried to recall the pattern on the ball as it left. A few seconds of thought and he had the initial vector, or at least as near as he could come without additional tools. Lest he forget this critical information, he turned his focus to the pad and pencil in hand and began writing down what he understood in the most economical language he could.

He continued to scribble notations and formula describing the duration of the pitch, the vectors, and potential speed based on his distance from the observable data and other miscellaneous data.

Once he was satisfied he had the formula down correctly he looked up and witnessed another pitch. In moments he was adding adjustments to the first formula while noting the math for the current throw. His pencil was flying at remarkable speed across the paper.

The batter changed up, and then did so again. The balls continued to fly for the next batter, and the next. Kevin continue to note each throw, the formulas flowing from him almost faster than he could calculate and-

"Hey Kevin, what's up?" asked a lilting female voice and with a start he looked up, realizing that Anika was standing right next to him and looking at him with a mix of hesitancy and confusion. "What're you doing here? Trying out for..." she trailed off as she looked down at the paper. Keven looked too.

In his lap lay a notepad utterly jammed with tight handwriting showing off a line after line of formula. They were all over the page-multiple pages-in a mad scrawl. Notations, diagrams, calculations. There was even a column of speculations. Each section was tagged by the batter's name, and there were force and balance diagrams analyzing each batter's swing, inconsistencies, and more.

He didn't remember writing _any_ of it...

"What the hell?" he asked in a soft whisper.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Eureka, it's characters, or its concepts, I'm just playing for fun and an educational experience._

_**Author's Notes:** I haven't checked in with Walker for a little while so I figured it was time to let people know where he was and what was going on with him. Welcome to the true "Project Archimedes"._

_Here we begin to see the first changes in Kevin. There's more to come.  
_

_Enjoy, and as always please review and let me know what you did and did not like. I can only get better if you tell me where I pooched it at._


End file.
